NATASHA TABORI FRIED is managing editor of Welcome Books. She co-edited The Little Big Book of Love (with Lena Tabori for William Morrow), and edited The Little Big Book of Chills and Thrills and The Little Big Book of America (for Welcome).
Maya Angelou Douglas Cross B. G. DeSylva Neil Diamond Joan Didion Lawrence Ferlinghetti Alex Forman Charlotte Perkins Gilman Dana Gioia Thom Gunn Robert Hass Ben Hecht Jane Hirschfeld Aldous Huxley
LENA TABORI is the publisher of Welcome Books. She has conceived and edited numerous books including Love: A Celebration in Art and Literature (with Jane Lahr), The Little Big Book for Dads (with H. Clark Wakabayashi), and The Little Big Book of New York. She lives in California and New York.
A LSO AVAILABLE : The Little Big Book of Christmas (William Morrow), ISBN 0-688-17414-0 The Little Big Book of Love (William Morrow), ISBN 0-688-17415-9 The Little Big Book of Disney (Disney Editions), ISBN 0-7868-5349-2 The Little Big Book of Pooh (Disney Editions), ISBN 0-7868-5364-6 Published by Welcome Books® An imprint of Welcome Enterprises, Inc. 6 West 18th Street, New York, NY 10011 Tel. (212) 989-3200; Fax. (212) 989-3205 w w w. w e l c o m e b o o k s . c o m Printed in China
FRIED
The Little Big Book of
Literary Excerpts, Essays, Recipes, Poems, Songs, Legend & Lore, and Facts
It has better days, and more of them, than any other country.
Edited by
EAN
UPC
Amy Tan
Lew Welch
Walt Whitman
Brian Wilson
Yvor Winters
Tom Wolfe
Natasha Tabori Fried and Lena Tabori
The Little Big Book of California is full of observations natives will appreciate, but it is also the ideal tourist guide and souvenir. It includes:
— Ra l p h Wa l d o E m e r s o n
Robinson Jeffers Al Jolson Bob Kaufman Maxine Hong Kingston Rudyard Kipling Jack Kornfield Danny Kortchmar Jack London Suzanne Lummis Armistead Maupin Wilma Elizabeth McDaniel Joseph Meyer Johnny Mercer Natalie Merchant Joaquin Miller Joni Mitchell John Muir Randy Newman Linda Niemann John Phillips Adela Rogers St. Johns Raquel Scherr Richard Stayton Wallace Stegner Gertrude Stein John Steinbeck Robert Louis Stevenson Amy Tan Lew Welch Walt Whitman Brian Wilson Yvor Winters Tom Wolfe Maya Angelou Douglas Cross B. G. DeSylva Neil Diamond Joan Didion Lawrence Ferlinghetti Alex Forman Charlotte Perkins Gilman Dana Gioia Thom Gunn Robert Hass Ben Hecht Jane Hirschfeld Aldous Huxley Robinson Jeffers Al Jolson Bob Kaufman Maxine Hong Kingston Rudyard Kipling Jack Kornfield Danny Kortchmar Jack London Suzanne Lummis Armistead Maupin Wilma Elizabeth McDaniel Joseph Meyer Johnny Mercer Natalie Merchant Joaquin Miller Joni Mitchell John Muir Randy Newman Linda Niemann John Phillips Adela Rogers St. Johns Raquel Scherr Richard Stayton Wallace Stegner Gertrude Stein John Steinbeck Robert Louis Stevenson
Can. $35.95
CALIFORNIA
The attraction and superiority of California are in its days.
ALSO AVAILABLE IN THE LITTLE BIG BOOK SERIES: The Little Big Book for Moms, ISBN 0-941807-41-X The Little Big Book for Dads, ISBN 0-941807-43-6 The Little Big Book for God’s Children, ISBN 0-941807-55-X The Little Big Book of Chills and Thrills, ISBN 0-941807-50-9 The Little Big Book of Animals, ISBN 0-941807-56-8 The Little Big Book for Grandmothers, ISBN 0-941807-57-6 The Little Big Book of Pregnancy, ISBN 0-941807-72-X The Little Big Book of America, ISBN 0-941807-71-1 The Little Big Book of Life, ISBN 0-941807-82-7 The Little Big Book for Boys, ISBN 0-941807-70-3 The Little Big Book for Girls, ISBN 0-941807-81-9 The Little Big Book for Brides, ISBN 0-941807-25-8 The Little Big Book of New York, ISBN 1-932183-02-7 The Little Big Book of Laughter, ISBN 1-932183-01-9 The Little Big Book of Roses, ISBN 1-932183-22-1 Disney The Little Big Book of Family Classics, ISBN 1-932183-16-7 The Little Big Book for Grandfathers, ISBN 1-932183-71-X
U.S. $24.95
welcome
BOOKS
Literary excerpts from authors such as Joan Didion, Jack London, John Steinbeck, and Amy Tan. Poems by the likes of Robert Hass, John Muir, and Walt Whitman. Fact spreads including Famous Californians, Moments in History, Earthquakes, and Surf’s Up. Song lyrics including “I Left My Heart in San Francisco,” “California Girls” by Brian Wilson, “California” by Joni Mitchell, and Natalie Merchant’s “San Andreas Fault.” Quotations by such luminaries as Ray Bradbury, Jack Kornfield, Maya Angelou, and Jack Kerouac. Legends and lore of everything you ever wanted to know about California, including the building of San Francisco’s bridges, the Gold Rush, the Water Wars, and Hollywood. Recipes for California nouveau classics like BBQ Chicken Pizza, California Rolls, and Chinese Chicken Salad join more traditional fare such as Crab Louis and Fish Tacos. Vintage Americana postcard and paper ephemera that illustrates eras of time gone by.
Edited by
Natasha Tabori Fried and Lena Tabori
welcome
BOOKS New York
• San Francisco
CONTENTS E S S AY S
EXCERPTS
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings Maya Angelou . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210
The White Album Joan Didion . . . . . . 138 The Woman Warrior
Hippies Alex Forman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250
Maxine Hong Kingston . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 285
Artist, Friend, and Moneymaker
From Sea to Sea Rudyard Kipling . . . . . 230
Ben Hecht . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140
Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow Aldous Huxley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 The Wonders of Yosemite John Muir . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98
The Valley of the Moon Jack London . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185 Taking the Plunge Armistead Maupin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 254
Boomer Linda Niemann . . . . . . . . . . . . 334
All the Little Live Things Wallace Stegner . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 343
La Japonesa Raquel Scherr . . . . . . . . . . 273
East of Eden John Steinbeck . . . . . . . . . . 26
Everybody’s Autobiography Gertrude Stein . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
The Silverado Squatters Robert Louis Stevenson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
“The Ranch:” Hearst and San Simeon Adela Rogers St. Johns . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 162
The Joy Luck Club Amy Tan . . . . . . . . 52
Disneyland Richard Stayton . . . . . . . . . 314
The Cops and Robbers Game Tom Wolfe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 310
FA C T S
LEGENDS & LORE
Bizarre and Interesting, but True... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
Alcatraz: The Rock . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 243
California on the Big Screen . . . . . . . 154
A State is Born . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
California Confidential . . . . . . . . . . . 125
California Immigrants: Spanish, Mexican, Chinese, Japanese . . . . . . . 276
It’s a Fact: California . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80
The California Missions . . . . . . . . . . . 87
The Great Outdoors: California’s National Parks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104
Cesar Chavez: Viva La Causa! . . . . . 200
Hollywood . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 142 Famous Californians . . . . . . . . . . . . . 266 Moments in History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34 Salad Days . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 296
The Gold Rush . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 Hard Times: Political and Social Unrest . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 303 Lights, Camera, Action: The Movie Industry . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116
Surf’s Up . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 323
On the Road: Pacific Coast Highway . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
The Sites . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173
Silicon Valley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 329
What’s Shakin’? California Quakes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 226
South of the Border Influences . . . . . 319
Wine Country . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196
Spanning the Bay: Building the Bridges of San Francisco . . . . . . . . . . 220 Water Wars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146
POETRY California Colors Charlotte Perkins Gilman . . . . . . . . . . . . 150
Becoming a Redwood Dana Gioia . . . . 78 Flying Above California Thom Gunn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 332 Tahoe in August Robert Hass . . . . . . . . 216 Tree Jane Hirschfeld . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109 November Surf Robinson Jeffers . . . . . . 178 No More Jazz at Alcatraz Bob Kaufman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247
As Long as I Live John Muir . . . . . . . . . 45
Prayers for a Thousand Years Jack Kornfield . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 204
Away Above a Harborful Lawrence Ferlinghetti . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 238
Shangri-La Suzanne Lummis . . . . . . . . . 129
The Song Mt. Tamalpais Sings Lew Welch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96
First Spring in California, 1936 Wilma Elizabeth McDaniel . . . . . . . . . . . . 61
Leaves of Grass Walt Whitman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 341
A California Christmas Joaquin Miller . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 290
The Slow Pacific Swell Yvor Winters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
RECIPES
SONGS
BBQ Chicken Pizza . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
I Left My Heart in San Francisco (lyrics) Douglas Cross . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224
Brown Rice Pudding with California Raisins . . . . . . . . . . . . 113 California Rolls . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 270 Chinese Chicken Salad . . . . . . . . . . . 51 Churros . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 316 Cobb Salad . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134 Crab Louis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 240 Fire-Roasted Artichokes . . . . . . . . . . . 294 Fish Tacos with Guacamole . . . . . . . 180 Fresh Apricot Sorbet . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207 Huevos Rancheros . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Shrimp and Avocado Salad . . . . . . . . 153 Sourdough Bread . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 216 Split Pea Soup . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 312
Sweet LA Days (lyrics) Neil Diamond . . 144 California Here We Come Al Jolson, B.G. DeSylva, and Joseph Meyer . . . . . . . . 258 Honey Don’t Leave LA Danny Kortchmar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 158 Hooray for Hollywood (lyrics) Johnny Mercer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114 San Andreas Fault Natalie Merchant . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59 California Joni Mitchell . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84 California Dreamin’ John Phillips . . . . 326 California Girls Brian Wilson . . . . . . . . . 15
Chinese Chicken Salad THIS ASIAN SPIN ON YOUR EVERYDAY SALAD BECAME POPULAR IN CALIFORNIA DURING THE ’60S AND ’70S AT A TIME WHEN BOTH CHINESE COOKING AND HEALTH-CONSCIOUS EATING WERE VERY MUCH IN VOGUE. VARIOUS PEOPLE LAY CLAIM TO THE ORIGINAL RECIPE. CHEFS MADAME WONG OF WESTWOOD AND MADAME WU OF SANTA MONICA EACH POPULARIZED A DISTINCT VERSION (MADAME WONG’S IS TOPPED WITH RICE STICKS AND GINGER, AND MADAME WU’S WITH ALMONDS, FRIED WONTONS, AND RICE NOODLES); AND WALLACE TOM OF THE NEW MOON CAFÉ ALSO LAID CLAIM TO ITS INVENTION. WHATEVER ITS ORIGINS, THIS ZESTY SALAD REMAINS A POPULAR STAPLE IN CALIFORNIA RESTAURANTS.
4 chicken breasts, shredded (see Cobb Salad, page 134)
2 heads iceberg lettuce 2 carrots, peeled and shredded 2-3 stalks green onion 1
/2 cup slivered almonds, toasted
1
/4 cup cilantro, coarsely chopped
1 tablespoon toasted sesame seeds
DRESSING: 1
/2 cup red wine vinegar
1
/2 cup soy sauce
1.
Combine all salad ingredients.
2.
Combine all dressing ingredients.
3.
Toss together and serve.
1
/4 cup hoisin sauce
Salt to taste 1 tablespoon chili-garlic sauce, or to taste 1 tablespoon fresh ginger, minced 1
/2 cup pickled red ginger, minced
SERVES 4
1
/2 cup green onions, minced
1 tablespoon honey 1
/2 cup toasted sesame oil
51
FROM
THE JOY LUCK CLUB BY
A M Y TA N
W
hen I arrived, nobody asked me questions. The authorities looked at my papers and stamped me in. I decided to go first to a San Francisco address given to me by this girl in Peking. The bus put me down on a wide street with cable cars. This was California Street. I walked up this hill and then I saw a tall building. This was Old St. Mary’s. Under the church sign, in handwritten Chinese characters, someone had added: “A Chinese Ceremony to save Ghosts from Spiritual Unrest 7 A.M. and 8:30 A.M.” I memorized this information in case the authorities asked me where I worshiped my religion. And then I saw another sign across the street. It was painted on the outside of a short building: “Save Today for Tomorrow, at Bank of America.” And I thought to myself, This is where American people worship. See, even this I was not so dumb! Today that church is the same size, but where that short bank used to be, now there is a tall building, fifty stories high, where you and your husband-to-be work and look down on everybody. My daughter laughed when I said this. Her mother can make a good joke. So I kept walking up this hill. I saw two pagodas, one on each side of the street, as though they were the entrance to a great Buddha temple. But hen I looked carefully, I saw the pagoda was really just a building topped with stacks of tile roofs, no walls, nothing else under its head. 52
I was surprised how they tried to make everything look like an old imperial city or an emperor’s tomb. But if you looked on either side of these pretendpagodas, you could see the streets became narrow and crowded, dark, and dirty. I thought to myself, Why did they choose only the worst Chinese parts for the inside? Why didn’t they build gardens and ponds instead? Oh, here and there was the look of a famous ancient cave or a Chinese opera. But inside it was always the same cheap stuff. So by the time I found the address the girl in Peking gave me, I knew not to expect too much. The address was a large green building, so noisy, children running up and down the outside stairs and hallways. Inside number 402, I found an old woman who told me right away she had wasted her time waiting for me all week. She quickly wrote down some addresses and gave them to me, keeping her hand out after I took the paper. So I gave her an American dollar and she looked at it and said, “Syaujye”—Miss— “we are in America now. Even a beggar can starve on this dollar.” So I gave her another dollar and she said, “Aii, you think it is so easy getting this information?” So I gave her another and she closed her hand and her mouth. With the addresses this old woman gave me, I found a cheap apartment on Washington Street. It was like all the other places, sitting on top of a little store. And through this three-dollar list, I found a terrible job paying me seventy-five cents an hour. Oh, I tried to get a job as a salesgirl, but you had to know English for that. I tried for another job as a Chinese hostess, but they also wanted me to rub my hands up and down foreign men, and I knew right away this was as bad as fourth-class prostitutes in 54
China! So I rubbed that address out with black ink. And some of the other jobs required you to have a special relationship. They were jobs held by families from Canton and Toishan and the Four Districts, southern people who had come many years ago to make their fortune and were still holding onto them with the hands of their great-grandchildren. So my mother was right about my hardships. This job in the cookie factory was one of the worst. Big black machines worked all day and night pouring little pancakes onto moving round griddles. The other women and I sat on high stools, and as the little pancakes went by, we had to grab them off the hot griddle just as they turned golden. We would put a strip of paper in the center, then fold the cookie in half and bend its arms back just as it turned hard. If you grabbed the pancake too soon, you would burn your fingers on the hot, wet dough. But if you grabbed too late, the cookie would harden before you could even complete the first bend. And then you had to throw these mistakes in a barrel, which counted against you because the owner could sell those only as scraps. After the first day, I suffered ten red fingers. This was not a job for a stupid person. You had to learn fast or your fingers would turn into fried sausages. So the next day only my eyes burned, from never taking them off the pancakes. And the day after that, my arms ached from holding them out ready to catch the pancakes at just the right moment. But by the end of my first week, it became mindless work and I could relax enough to notice who else was working on each side of me. One was an older woman who never smiled and spoke to herself in Cantonese when 55
she was angry. She talked like a crazy person. On my other side was a woman around my age. Her barrel contained very few mistakes. But I suspected she ate them. She was quite plump. “Eh, Syaujye,” She called to me over the loud noise of the machines. I was grateful to hear her voice, to discover we both spoke Mandarin, although her dialect was coarse-sounding. “Did you ever think you would be so powerful you could determine someone else’s fortune?” she asked. I didn’t understand what she meant. So she picked up one of the strips of paper and read it aloud, first in English: “Do not fight and air your dirty laundry in public. To the victor go the soils.” Then she translated in Chinese: “You shouldn’t fight and do your laundry at the same time. If you win, your clothes will get dirty.” I still did not know what she meant. So she picked up another one and read in English: “Money is the root of all evil. Look around you and dig deep.” And then in Chinese: “Money is a bad influence. you become restless and rob graves.” “What is this nonsense?” I asked her, putting the strips of paper in my pocket, thinking I should study these classical American sayings. “They’re fortunes,” she explained. “American people think Chinese people write these sayings.” “But we never say such things!” I said. “These things don’t make sense. These are not fortunes, they are bad instructions.” “No, Miss,” she said, laughing, “it is our bad fortune to be here making these and somebody else’s bad fortune to pay to get them.” 56
it’s rags to riches over there
go west paradise is there you’ll have all that you can eat of milk & honey over there
San Andreas Fault moved its fingers through the ground earth divided plates collided such an awful sound
you’ll be the brightest star the world has ever seen sun-baked slender heroine of film & magazine
San Andreas Fault moved its fingers through the ground terra cotta shattered and the walls came tumbling down
go west paradise is there you’ll have all that you can eat of milk & honey over there you’ll be the brightest light the world has ever seen the dizzy height of a jet-set life you could never dream
o, promised land o, wicked ground build a dream tear it down
your pale blue eyes strawberry hair lips so sweet skin so fair
o, promised land what a wicked ground build a dream watch it all fall down
your future bright beyond compare
SA N A N D R E A S FAU LT BY
59
N ATA L I E M E R C H A N T
FIRST SPRING IN CALIFORNIA, 1936 BY
The Oakies wrapped their old dreams in army blankets and patchwork quilts and slept away the foggy winter nights of 1935
WILMA ELIZABETH MCDANIEL
As they waited for odd jobs the Valley burst forth with one imperial color poppies flung their gold over acres of sand like all the bankers in California gone raving mad
From doorways of tents and hasty shacks now and then a boxcar they watched for spring as they would watch for the Second Coming of Christ
Women wept in wonder and hunted fruit jars to can the precious flowers in case next year did not produce a bumper crop
And saw the Valley change from skim milk blue still needing sweaters to palest green that filled their eyes with hope 60
In every cove along the line of
mountains the fog was being piled in higher and higher, as though by some wind that was inaudible to me. I could trace its progress, one pine-tree first growing hazy and then disappearing after another; although sometimes there was none of this forerunning haze, but the whole opaque white ocean gave a start and swallowed a piece of mountain at a gulp. — Ro b e r t L o u i s S t eve n s o n
64
THE PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY (or the PCH) is hard to pin down. Obviously, it is a highway that winds along the Pacific Coast—but what is it exactly? Some insist the PCH is California State Highway 1 (or, as shown on maps, Route 1), the road that traces the majestic Big Sur coastline. Others assert the PCH is the much longer US Highway 101, affectionately known as The 101. To still others, the PCH is more of a concept—a combination of scenic roads, including both Highway 1 and The 101, that hug the Pacific Coast and stretch from the Mexican border through California, up the rugged coast of Oregon, and on to the temperate rainforests of Washington state’s Olympic Peninsula. In this larger, glorious conception, the Pacific Coast Highway covers over 2000 miles and offers some of the most spectacular shoreline vistas in the world. Along the way, you can experience an extraordinary range of beautiful, historical, and one-of-a-kind attractions such as the famous Butterfly Trees of Pacific Grove, the 1772 Mission San Luis Obispo de Tolosa, and Half Moon Bay’s world championship pumpkin weigh-off. If you jump in your car in the southernmost part of California and head north, you first hit San Diego and Los Angeles and the warm, sun-drenched surfer beaches of La Jolla, Venice, Santa Monica, Malibu, Santa Barbara, and Pismo. Winding northward, you pass through miles of beaches, wildflowers, and vineyards to arrive at San Simeon and the beginning of Big Sur. A highlight of San Simeon is the surreal Hearst castle, a 165 room palatial mansion built by eccentric publishing magnate William Randolph Hearst that overlooks
ON THE ROAD: PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY
67
the Pacific. The 127-acre estate is home to a vast collection of Italian, Spanish, and ancient Greek antiques, countless paintings, beautiful terraces, sparkling pools, sumptuous gardens, and the occasional free-roaming zebra. The landscape changes significantly as you enter Big Sur, a 90-mile strip of shoreline originally dubbed El Sur Grand or “The Big South” by Spaniards of Monterey. To your right, thick pine forests cling to steep mountainsides as the land to your left drops off hundreds of feet into the pounding sea. The road twists along cliff tops and through several state parks, offering you breathtaking views of craggy rocks jutting into pristine blue waters, windswept Cyprus trees, playful sea otters, lolling sea lions, and in winter, if you’re lucky, migrating gray whales. The dramatic drive also provides many chances to camp, hike, picnic on the beach, and dine in fine seaside restaurants. At the northern tip of Big Sur, you enter the rolling hills and fertile pastures of Monterey Peninsula. The peninsula features charming Carmel with its more than 70 art galleries, the world-class Pebble Beach golf course, the historic town of Monterey whose Cannery Row now houses the Monterey Bay Aquarium (boasting the world’s largest collection of jelly fish); and loopy, happening Santa Cruz—the proud home of University of California, Santa Cruz and its beloved mascot, the Banana Slug. The Pacific Coast Highway continues northward through foggy San Francisco, over the fabled Golden Gate Bridge, and on to Napa and Sonoma’s bountiful wine country. Another day’s drive finds you deep in the fabled redwood groves and near the end of PCH’s California leg. If you continue up in through the wilds of Oregon, you are rewarded with old lighthouses, working fishing villages, 300-foot sand dunes, and a long, magnificent bridge that spans the mouth of the Columbia and links Oregon to Washington. The Pacific Coast Highway culminates in upstate Washington, circling around the lush Olympic Peninsula. 68
W E W E N T F I R S T into the San Joaquin Valley, naturally this was interesting because Alice Toklas’s pioneer grandfather had owned all his land there and Fresno and all about was exciting, after all if that is where you were and the names of it are that it is exciting. We tacked back and forward across the valley and we did like all we saw we liked smelling the oranges and the kind of nuts and fruits that had not been there I had never been there before but she had been there and the way they cut the tops of the trees
E
’
A B
-
G
S
to make a straight line as if they had been cut with a razor and the fig trees fig trees smell best of all and we went forward and back until we got a little higher and saw the California poppies growing which we had not seen growing wild since we had been in California, they were like they were and it gave me a shock to see them there, it began to be funny and to make me uneasy. Then we went up a little higher and then although it was still wintry we thought that we would go into the Yosemite, we had neither of us ever been there, that I had not been there was not astonishing, 71
we had tended to go north not south from Oakland when we were children but that Alice Toklas had not been there was more surprising, her cousins who lived then in the San Joaquin Valley used to drive every year into the valley as they called the Yosemite the others were rivers but not valleys, and so we decided to go into the valley, I wanted to see the big trees I had never seen them and anyway we decided we would go into the valley, it was spring but it was a very cold one, there was rain and there was lots of snow yet and again. We tried one road that led to big trees but it was raining and snowing and the road looked none too good and precipitous besides perhaps not but I felt that and so we went back again and finally got to Merced, there the sun was shining it was muddy but the sun was shining and the town of Merced looked like the kind of California I knew just a little country town and we ate something there and decided to go on. I am always afraid of precipices and I could not believe that in going into the Yosemite there would not be lots of them, they had told us not but naturally I did not believe them they said the road was not dangerous, of course the road is not dangerous roads rarely are but it is what you see when you don’t see anything except the sky that gives you that funny feeling and makes what I call precipitous. No matter how wide the road and how large the curve it can be 72
precipitous to me. So at Merced we wanted to go on but I thought I would feel better if somebody else was along and driving, so we asked was there any one, in France of course there would not have been any one but in Merced of course there was there was a boy at school who sooner or later would have to go home and his home was in the valley so he said he did not mind missing school that afternoon if we gave him a dollar and of course we did not mind and although he was very young he could drive anybody any where in America can. A good many can here in France but not so young as in America, in France they can all ride a bicycle any one can do that and go up any hill and never get off everybody has his specialty. So we were driven into the valley and there was no precipice, how they made the road as it is and going always higher and never at any time in any place to feel as if you were jumping off and never necessary to change your speed it was a wonder. Later they told us perhaps it is so that you could go all the way from California to New York and at no time is there a grade which makes changing speeds necessary, the road is made in such a way and of course there are some precipitous spots but they all said certainly not and after the Yosemite Valley road I was almost ready to believe them. The roads in America were lovely, they move along alone the big ones the way the railroad tracks 73
used to move with really no connection with the country. Of course in a way that is natural enough as I always like to tell a Frenchman and he listens but he does not believe the railroad did not follow the towns made by the road but it made a road followed by the towns and the country, there were no towns and no roads therefore no country until the railroad came along, and the new big roads in America still make you feel that way, air lines they call some of them and they are they have nothing really to do with the towns and the country. The only thing that worried me not so much in California but still even there is the soft shoulder of the road as they called it, that the cement road had no finish to it as it has in France which keeps it from being a danger, I suppose the roads are too long to make that possible but still it is a pity, the smaller roads are too narrow as they have a soft shoulder, some day they will make them a little wider and finish the edge of them with a little edge to it, then they will be pleasanter for driving certainly in rain and anyway. However we did like driving on the American roads and the boy brought us safely into Yosemite. It was high there and cold and we arrived a little late but the director of the valley offered to take us to see the big trees and we went. I liked that. The thing that was most exciting about them was that they had no roots did anybody want anything to be more 74
interesting than that that the oldest and the solidest and the biggest tree that could be grown had no foundation, there it was sitting and the wind did not blow it over it sat so well. It was very exciting. Very beautiful and very exciting. 75
THE SLOW PACIFIC SWELL BY Y VOR
Far out of sight forever stands the sea, Bounding the land with pale tranquility. When a small child, I watched it from a hill At thirty miles or more. The vision still Lies in the eye, soft blue and far away: The rain has washed the dust from April day; Paint-brush and lupine lie against the ground; The wind above the hill-top has the sound Of distant water in unbroken sky; Dark and precise the little steamers ply— Firm in direction they seem not to stir. That is illusion. The artificer Of quiet, distance holds me in a vise And holds the ocean steady to my eyes. Once when I rounded Flattery, the sea Hove its loose weight like sand to tangle me Upon the washing deck, to crush the hull; Subsiding, dragged flesh at the bone. The skull
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WINTERS
When I am in California, I am not in the west, I am west of the west. — Pr e s i d e n t T h e o d o r e Ro o s eve l t
Well, East coast girls are hip. I really dig those styles they wear; And the Southern girls with the way they talk, They knock me out when I’m down there. The midwest farmer’s daughters really make you feel alright, And Northern girls with the way they kiss They keep their boyfriends warm at night. Chorus I wish they all could be California, I wish they all could be California, I wish they all could be California Girls. West coast has the sunshine, and the girls all get so tanned; I dig a French bikini on Hawaiian Islands, Dolls by a palm tree in the sand. I been all around this great big world and I’ve seen all kinds of girls, But I couldn’t wait to get back in the states, Back to the cutest girls in the world. Chorus
CA L I F O R N I A GIRLS BY
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BRIAN WILSON
B I ZA R R E & I N T E R E ST I N G B U T T R U E íˇŽ
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The some 200 bison still roaming Catalina Island’s hinterlands off the California coast are descendents of a few brought there in the 1920s for a movie. íˇŽ
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of Mel Blanc, “The Man of 1,000 Voices� (including Bugs Bunny and Porky Pig), whose headstone reads “That’s all, folks!�
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The drawbridge to Sleeping Beauty’s 77-foot-tall castle in Disneyland actually works. It was lowered on the park’s opening day, July 17, 1955, and has been raised only once since, for renovations. íˇŽ
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Thousands make the pilgrimage every year to Hollywood’s Westwood Memorial Cemetery to pay respects at Marilyn Monroe’s crypt. íˇŽ
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Northern California’s Altamont Pass contains the world’s largest concentration of wind turbines. The 6000 turbines generate 1-1.2 million kilowatts per year. However, due to its unique location on a major birdmigratory route, it also kills more birds of prey than any other wind facility in North America: as many as 1300 a year.
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The very first product produced by Hewlett-Packard—Silicon Valley’s very first tech company—was an audio oscillator bought by Walt Disney Studios in 1938 for use in the making of Fantasia. íˇŽ
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The television show Seinfeld was set in New York City; however, the building exterior used for Jerry’s apartment house is actually in Los Angeles.
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There is an organization in Berkeley whose members gather monthly to discuss and honor the garlic plant. Called “The Lovers of the Stinky
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Rose,â€? this unusual organization holds an annual garlic festival and publishes a newsletter known as “Garlic Time.â€? íˇŽ
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Crispâ€? bag—designed to regulate oxygen and keep lettuce fresh for up to two weeks without preservatives. íˇŽ
In 1928, William Dreyer and Joseph Edy opened a small ice cream store at 3315 Grand Avenue in Oakland, CA, and “Grandâ€? has been part of Dreyer’s Grand Ice Cream’s name ever since. íˇŽ
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When California’s first drive-thru hamburger stand was opened by Harry Snyder in 1948 in Baldwin, In-N-Out Burger was born. Today the company has 148 locations in three states.
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California is the second-largest cheese-making state after Wisconsin— and leads the nation in the production of Hispanic-style cheeses such as Monterey Jack.
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The packaged salad industry began in 1989 at Fresh Express in Salinas, CA. The family-owned company introduced an iceberg salad in a patented “Keep-
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Los Angeles has the dubious distinction of being #1 in the nation for the worst air pollution. íˇŽ
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In Baldwin Park, riding a bike in a swimming pool is illegal.
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In Berkeley, you can’t whistle for a lost canary before 7 A.M.
Los Angeles is on the western coast of the United States, but if you were to drive from there to Reno, Nevada, you’d find yourself—strangely enough—headed northwest (check the map!). íˇŽ
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In Blythe, you have to own 2 cows in order to wear cowboy boots. In Chico, there’s a $500 fine for detonating a nuclear device within city limits.
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Monarch butterflies, migrating to Pacific Grove, California, for better than a century, have given the city the nickname “Butterfly Town, USA.â€? íˇŽ
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In Hollywood, it’s illegal to drive more than 2000 sheep down Hollywood Blvd. at once.
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In Prunedale, you can’t install two bathtubs in one house.
The Directors Guild of America initiated a strike at 6 A.M. on July 14, 1987, against Warner Brothers and Columbia Pictures. Just five minutes later, an agreement was reached. It was the shortest strike in Hollywood history. íˇŽ
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In Arcadia, peacocks have right of way.
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Scientists have determined that Los Angeles is moving east, at a rate of about one-fifth of an inch per year. íˇŽ
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America may be a nation of laws, but California has some real doozies:
In Redlands, you can’t drive on the street unless a man with a lantern walks ahead of you. In San Diego it’s a $250 fine if you leave your Christmas lights up past February 2nd.
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LSD was legal in California until 1967. 19
IN 1542, Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo explored the San Diego Bay and claimed the land now known as California for Spain. The area remained largely uncolonized until 1769, when the Spaniards, fearing advancing foreign settlements, decided to establish more-permanent residence and set up a series of missions, presidios (forts), and pueblos (towns). The 21 missions were established to convert Native Americans to Catholicism and provide Spain with the citizens, labor, and back-up military needed to protect and sustain their regional interests. Over 100 presidios were built to defend the missions and pueblos from foreign invaders. Inhabited mostly by married soldiers and their families, the military outposts also served as political, social, and economic centers for the region. Only three pueblos were officially established under Spanish rule, and as the Spaniards concentrated on protecting New Mexico, the isolated colonists, known as the Californios, lived prosperous, pastoral lives. Mexico won its independence from Spain in 1821, and in the 1830s, the ruling Mexicans secularized the missions. Using newly discovered overland routes, American immigrants began arriving to the area in large numbers. The Californios drove out the last Mexican governor in 1845, and in 1848, Mexico formally ceded the region to the United States. The Gold Rush of 1849 brought thousands more Americans to San Francisco and its vicinity. California entered the Union in 1850, and, after a few failed experiments, Sacramento was named the capital.
A STATE IS BORN
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In 1869, with the help of Chinese laborers, a transcontinental railroad was completed. Though the Chinese were originally welcomed in California, their presence came to be seen as a threat when the state’s economy lagged, leading to the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 The 1884 railroad-rate war and 1885 real estate boom triggered a new wave of overland immigration, and turn-of-the-century industrialization attracted even more settlers. Los Angeles soon had more inhabitants than San Francisco, which was badly damaged by a 1906 earthquake. Tensions rose over Japanese immigrant farming and trucking practices, and in 1913, the California Alien Land Act was passed, prohibiting non-U.S. citizens from owning agricultural land in California. Settlers continued to stream in, lured by a 1920s real estate boom and the promise of jobs in the 1930s. During World War II, Japanese immigrants were confined in overcrowded “relocation centers.�
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But during the war, from 1939 to 1945, Californian ship and aircraft production grew rapidly, attracting evermore workers, many of them African Americans. As the African-American population increased, so did racial tensions. In 1965, riots broke out in Los Angeles, sparking riots across the country. The 1960s also saw migrant-farm workers striking for better wages and conditions and widespread student protesting. During the 1970s and 1980s, California continued its rapid growth, largely because of immigrants from the Philippines, China, and Southeast Asia, as well as heavy illegal Mexican immigration. As cuts in federal defense spending and the increased population strained California’s economy, social pressures again mounted. In 1992, more riots swept through Los Angeles, killing 55 people, injuring approximately 2,000, and causing over $13 billion in damages. By late 2000, due to 1990s deregulation of the electricity industry, California faced rolling blackouts and large electricity rate hikes. Because of the ensuing economic slump and state budget shortfalls, Governor Gray Davis was recalled and actor Arnold Schwarzenegger was elected to replace him. California is currently the most populated state in the United States, leading the nation in fruits, vegetables, and dairy production. In addition, California boasts much of the United States’ domestic wine and motion picture/entertainment production, as well as a heavy concentration of information technology developers and a flourishing tourism industry.
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Huevos Rancheros HUEVOS RANCHEROS, OR “RANCHER’S EGGS,” IS AN EXTREMELY POPULAR DISH IN MEXICO WHERE EGGS ARE EATEN FOR MOST ANY MEAL. OUR NEIGHBORS TO THE SOUTH BROUGHT THEIR SPICY EGG DISHES TO CALIFORNIA WHERE THEY ARE ENJOYED BURRITO STYLE, WITH SALSAS, OR ACCOMPANIED BY BEANS AND RICE. OUR RECIPE ALSO INCLUDES ANOTHER CALIFORNIA FAVORITE, AVOCADO, WHICH PERFECTLY OFFSETS THE SPICY SALSA.
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1.
4 eggs
Heat oil in a small skillet over medium-high heat. Fry tortillas one at a time until firm, but not crisp. Place on paper towels to drain any excess grease.
4 6-inch corn tortillas 1 cup refried beans with green chilies 2 tablespoon butter
1 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese
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Meanwhile, combine the refried beans and 1 tablespoon of butter in a small saucepan or microwave-safe dish. Cover, and cook until heated through.
8 slices bacon, cooked and crumbled
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Heat remaining butter in a skillet and fry eggs to desired consistency.
1 cup salsa
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Place fried tortillas onto serving plates. Spread a layer of beans on them. Top with a fried egg, cheese, crumbled bacon, salsa, and sliced avocado.
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If you prefer your cheese a bit more melted, place under a broiler on high for 45 seconds to 1 minute, or until cheese is hot and bubbling. Serve.
1 avocado, sliced
SERVES 4
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FROM
EAST OF EDEN BY JOHN STEINBECK
T
he Salinas Valley is in Northern California. It is a long narrow swale between two ranges of mountains, and the Salinas River winds and twists up the center until it falls at last into Monterey Bay. I remember my childhood names for grasses and secret flowers. I remember where a toad may live and what time the birds awaken in the summer—and what trees and seasons smelled like—how people looked and walked and smelled even. The memory of odors is very rich. I remember that the Gabilan Mountains to the east of the valley were light gay mountains full of sun and loveliness and a kind of invitation, so that you wanted to climb into their warm foothills, almost as you want to climb into the lap of a beloved mother. They were beckoning mountains with a brown grass love. The Santa Lucias stood up against the sky to the west and kept the valley from the open sea, and they were dark and brooding—unfriendly and dangerous. I always found in myself a dread of west and a love of east. Where I ever got such an idea I cannot say, unless it could be that the morning came over the peaks of the Gabilans and the night drifted back from the ridges of the Santa Lucias. It may be that the birth and death of the day had some part in my feeling about the two ranges of mountains.
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From both sides of the valley little streams slipped out of the hill canyons and fell into the bed of the Salinas River. In the winter of wet years the streams ran full-freshet, and they swelled the river until sometimes it raged and boiled, bank full, and then it was a destroyer. The river tore the edges of the farm lands and washed whole acres down; it toppled barns and houses into itself, to go floating and bobbing away. It trapped cows and pigs and sheep and drowned them in its muddy brown water and carried them to the sea. Then when the late spring came, the river drew in from its edges and the sand banks appeared. And in the summer the river didn’t run at all above ground. Some pools would be left in the deep swirl places under a high bank. The rules and grasses grew back, and willows straightened up with the flood debris in their upper branches. The Salinas was only a part-time river. The summer sun drove it underground. It was not a fine river at all, but it was the only one we had and so we boasted about it—how dangerous it was in a wet winter and how dry it was in a dry summer. You can boast about anything if it’s all you have. Maybe the less you have, the more you are required to boast. The floor of the Salinas Valley, between the ranges and below the foothills, is level because this valley used to be the bottom of a hundredmiles inlet from the sea. The river mouth at Moss Landing was centuries ago the entrance to this long inland water. Once, fifty miles down the
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valley, my father bored a well. The drill came up first with topsoil and then with gravel and then with white sea sand full of shells and even pieces of whalebone. There were twenty feet of sand and then black earth again, and even a piece of redwood, that imperishable wood that does not rot. Before the inland sea the valley must have been a forest. And those things had happened right under our feet. And it seemed to me sometimes at night that I could feel both the sea and the redwood forest before it. On the wide level acres of the valley the topsoil lay deep and fertile. It required only a rich winter of rain to make it break forth in grass and flowers. The spring flowers in a wet year were unbelievable. The whole valley floor, and the foothills too, would be carpeted with lupins and poppies. Once a woman told me that colored flowers would seem more bright if you added a few white flowers to give the colors definition. Every petal of blue lupin is edged with white, so that a field of lupins is more blue than you can imagine. And mixed with these were splashes of California poppies. These too are of a burning color窶馬ot orange, not gold, but if pure gold were liquid and could raise a cream, that golden cream might be like the color of the poppies. When their season was over the yellow mustard came up and grew to a great height. When my grandfather came into the valley the mustard was so tall that a man on horseback showed only his head above the yellow flowers. On the uplands the grass would be strewn with buttercups, with hen-and-chickens,
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with black centered yellow violets. And a little later in the season there would be red and yellow stands of Indian paintbrush. These were the flowers of the open places exposed to the sun. Under the live oaks, shaded and dusky, the maidenhair flourished and gave a good smell, and under the mossy banks of the water courses whole clumps of five-fingered ferns and goldy-backs hung down. Then there were harebells, tiny lanterns, cream white and almost sinful looking, and these were so rare and magical that a child, finding one, felt singled out and special all day long. When June came the grasses headed out and turned brown, and the hills turned a brown which was not brown but a gold and saffron and red—an indescribable color. And from then on until the next rains the earth dried and the streams stopped. Cracks appeared on the level ground. The Salinas River sank under its sand. The wind blew down the valley, picking up dust and straws, and grew stronger and harsher as it went south. It stopped in the evening. It was a rasping nervous wind, and the dust particles cut into a man’s skin and burned his eyes. Men working in the fields wore goggles and tied handkerchiefs around their noses to keep the dirt out. The valley land was deep and rich, but the foothills wore only a skin of topsoil no deeper than the grass roots; and the farther up the hills you
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went, the thinner grew the soil, with flints sticking through, until at the brush line it was a kind of dry flinty gravel that reflected the hot sun blindingly. I had spoken of the rich years when the rainfall was plentiful. But there were dry years too, and they put a terror on the valley. The water came in a thirty-year cycle. There would be five or six wet and wonderful years when there might be nineteen to twenty-five inches of rain, and the land would shout with grass. Then would come six or seven pretty good years of twelve to sixteen inches of rain. And then the dry years would come, and sometimes there would be only seven or eight inches of rain. The land dried up and the grasses headed out miserably a few inches high and great bare scabby places appeared in the valley. The live oaks got a crusty look and the sagebrush was gray. The land cracked and the springs dried up and the cattle listlessly nibbled dry twigs. Then the farmers and the ranchers would be filled with disgust for the Salinas Valley. The cows would grow thin and sometimes starve to death. People would have to haul water in barrels to their farms just for drinking. Some families would sell out for nearly nothing and move away. And it never failed that during the dry years the people forgot about the rich years, and during the wet years they lost all memory of the dry years. It was always that way.
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It used to be said that you had to know
what was happening in America because it gave us a glimpse of our future. Today, the rest of America, and after that Europe, had better heed what happens in California, for it already reveals the type of civilization that is in store for all of us. — A l i s t a i r C o o ke
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M O M E N TS I N
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Native California Indians and Europeans first met in 1533, when the Spaniards who had conquered the Aztecs traveled northward and encountered the Guayacura tribe at the Bay of La Paz in Baja, California. íˇŽ
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As a result of a rate war among the railroads, in 1887, fares dropped from $125 to as low as a $1 for a trip to California. More than 200,000 people moved to southern California that year alone.
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The first wagon train of American settlers from the East arrived in California in 1841. íˇŽ
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By 1870 disease, malnutrition, and a campaign of extermination carried out by white settlers reduced the number of Native Americans in California from 150,000 to 30,000.
On November 29, 1777, the first civilian town (or pueblo), San Jose, was established to help supply the military presidios of San Francisco and Monterey. íˇŽ
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John Muir founded the Sierra Club in 1892, dedicated to “preserving the forests and other natural features of the Sierra Nevada.�
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On October 24, 1861, the first telegraph was sent from California commemorating the completion of the first transcontinental telegraph line. It rendered the Pony Express obsolete.
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The California State Automobile Association was founded in 1901. It is the oldest auto club in America. 34
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California became the sixth state in the Union to grant women’s suffrage in 1911. íˇŽ
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The Pan-Pacific International Exposition of 1915 celebrated the completion of the Panama Canal as well as the rebuilding of San Francisco after the 1906 earthquake and fire. The only exhibit that remains now is the Palace of Fine Arts, which houses the Exploratorium Museum. íˇŽ
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John Steinbeck won the Pulitzer Prize for his novel The Grapes of Wrath, in 1940. The story of the evolution of an Oklahoma family from farmers to migrant workers as they make their way to California hit home with a nation recovering from the Great Depression.
Los Angeles hosted the Xth Olympiad in 1932, in the midst of the Great Depression. íˇŽ
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California became the most populous state in 1964, surpassing New York. íˇŽ
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Californians elected popular former-actor Ronald Reagan as their governor in 1966. He went to become President of the United States in 1980.
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Hoover Dam was dedicated by President Franklin Delano Roosevelt on September 11, 1936. The dam, which is the size of a 60-story building, holds back the largest reservoir in the world, Lake Mead, in order to divert water from the Colorado River to southern California.
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Lawrence Ferlinghetti became San Francisco’s first Poet Laureate in 1998. He founded City Lights Booksellers and Publishers in 1953, which then became a lightning rod for a new generation of untamed poets in 1956 with its publication of Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl.� 37
O N A P L A N E T O F L I M I T E D A R E A , the more people there are, the less vacant space there is bound to be. Over and above the material and sociological problems of increasing population, there is a serious psychological problem. In a completely homemade environment, such as is provided by any great metropolis, it is as hard to remain sane as it is in a completely natural environment such as the
T T T B A
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desert or the forest. O Solitude, where are thy charms? But O Multitude, where are thine? The most wonderful thing about America is that, even in these middle years of the twentieth century, there are so few Americans. By taking a certain amount of trouble you might still be able to get yourself eaten
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by a bear in the state of New York. And without any trouble at all you can get bitten by a rattler in the Hollywood hills, or die of thirst, while wandering through an uninhabited desert, within a hundred and fifty miles of Los Angeles. A short generation ago you might have wandered and died within only a hundred miles of Los Angeles. Today the mounting tide of humanity has oozed through the intervening canyons and spilled out into the wide Mojave. Solitude is receding at the rate of four and a half kilometers per annum. And yet, in spite of it all, the silence persists. For this silence of the desert is such that casual sounds, and even the systematic noise of civilization, cannot abolish it. They coexist with it—as small irrelevances at right angles to an enormous meaning, as veins of something analogous to darkness with an enduring transparency. From the irrigated land come the dark gross sounds of lowing cattle, and above them the plovers trail their vanishing threads of shrillness. Suddenly, startlingly, out of the sleeping sagebrush there burst the shrieking of coyotes—Trio for Ghoul and Two Damned Souls. On the trunks of cottonwood
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trees, on the wooden walls of barns and houses, the woodpeckers rattle away like pneumatic drills. Picking one’s way between the cactuses and the creosote bushes one hears, like some tiny whirring clockwork, the soliloquies of invisible wrens, the calling, at dusk, of nightjays and even occasionally the voice of Homo sapiens—six of the species in a parked Chevrolet, listening to the broadcast of a prize fight, or else in pairs necking to the delicious accompaniment of Crosby. But the light forgives, the distances forget, and this great crystal of silence, whose base is as large as Europe and whose height, for all practical purposes, is infinite, can coexist with things of far higher order of discrepancy than canned sentiment or vicarious sport. Jet planes, for example—the stillness is so massive that it can absorb even jet planes. The screaming crash mounts to its intolerable climax and fades again, mounts as another of the monsters rips through the air, and once more diminishes and is gone. But even at the height of the outrage the mind can still remain aware of that which surrounds it, that which preceded and will outlast it.
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Unlike a mountain forest or the ocean,
rife with depth and secret, the desert’s unveiled openness—its grand sweep of red-hot honesty—requires a period of adjustment and patient, contemplative observation. Desolation transforms under light’s tutelage. Everyone ought to witness this transition and their own internal adjustment to it at least once. Preferably alone. —Camille Cusumano
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AS LONG AS I LIVE BY J OHN
As long as I live I’ll hear waterfalls and birds and winds sing. I’ll interpret the rocks, Learn the language of the flood, storm, and the avalanche. I’ll acquaint myself with the glaciers And wild gardens, And get as near the heart of the world as I can.
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MUIR
IT ALL BEGAN on January 24, 1848, when John Sutter hired James Marshall to build a sawmill on the American River. That morning, Marshall spied a shiny little nugget. When he flattened the metal between two rocks, it didn’t shatter. And when the cook tested it in a pot of lye, they realized they’d found gold. Though Sutter tried to keep the discovery a secret, stories of gold spread via travelers and letters to the East Coast and Europe. Trading ships carried gold rumors to Mexico, Chile, Hawaii, and China. Most people first thought the stories to be no more than fantastical tales, but in December of 1848, when 220 ounces of gold arrived in Washington D.C., President Polk confirmed the findings to Congress. The Gold Rush was on. In 1849, adventurers from around the world, most of them greenhorns who had never worked a field or saddled a horse, abandoned their everyday lives and made their way toward what would soon become California. That year at least 32,000 “forty-niners” from the eastern United States, Canada, and Mexico walked six to nine months overland. In 1850, another 44,000 joined them. But their dreams of gold quickly gave way to the realities of exhaustion, cholera, starvation, and deadly Sierra winters. Forty-niners traveling by sea often endured four to eight months of boredom, seasickness, storms, minimal food, tainted water, overcrowding, rampant disease, and even shipwrecks. Still, from April 1849 to January 1850, close to 40,000 gold seekers made their way to San Francisco via the sea. New arrivals found the gold-rush frontier to be a lawless, classless place that lacked the boundaries and restrictions of settled states and nations. Because of thousands of years of erosion and mountain runoff, gold could initially be found lying in riverbeds, ripe for the picking. Never before could an ordinary individual so easily obtain gold and quickly amass a fortune.
THE GOLD RUSH
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Fortunes were made not only by mining gold. Many savvy entrepreneurs profited by catering to the needs of the miners. Sam Brannan is often credited for starting the boom by running through the streets of San Francisco shouting, “Gold in the American River!” and waving a bottle of gold dust. But before Brannan spread the news, he’d bought up every pick, pan, and shovel in the region, eventually selling a 20-cent pan for 15 dollars. In nine weeks, Brannan made 36 thousand dollars. He went on to become the wealthiest man in California, even minting his own money. Other notable businessmen of the era include Levi Strauss, who stitched the sturdy canvas pants the miners wore; Henry Wells and William Fargo, who offered secure banking, transportation, and mail service to miners far from home; and John Studebaker, who invested his own gold spoils in his family’s wagon business, eventually going on to make automobiles. Foreigners from places such as Mexico, Chile, China, Ireland, Germany, France, and Turkey struck it rich, too. But as streams got crowded, discrimination and ethnic tensions rose, and the state passed laws taxing foreign miners. It was challenging for foreigners to get their gold home because thieves often targeted them. The Chinese were known to forge gold into woks and pots and board ships carrying what appeared to be nothing more than greasy, old cooking utensils. Though women were scarce, those who did venture west could make good money cooking, laundering, and cleaning for the miners. Even slaves were known to have some success in California. When Southerners arrived with slaves to do their work, the miners objected, mostly because they did not want to equate their own work with “slave labor.” Miners also resented people back East who profited from someone else’s digging. Consequently, California entered the Union as a free state in 1850—further inciting tensions that led to the Civil War. The true casualties of the gold rush were the Native Americans, who had lived in the region for over 10,000 years. When gold 48
seekers surged into the area, they destroyed the local socioeconomic systems. Tribes were annihilated—their numbers decreased from approximately 300,000 to 50,000 members. By 1852, nearly 275,000 people had converged on California, making San Francisco the most ethnically and culturally diverse city on the planet. From 1848 to 1853, the city grew from 800 to 50,000 people, racking up two murders per day. In 18 months, a plot of land that had cost $16 rocketed to $45,000. And in less than two years the town had been burned down and rebuilt six times, making use of the half-billion dollars that passed through San Francisco in the 1850s. But the easy gold was soon gone. Fortune seekers toiled away in cold creeks and dank mines, and as luckless months stretched into years, loneliness, bad food, sickness, harsh weather, and the hard work of mining sunk them into despair. More and more miners took to gambling, drinking, and other vices. Crime and hangings became commonplace. When gold became harder to find, miners first banded together to dam rivers and expose riverbeds. But more muscle was needed, and corporations soon took over. They used heavy machinery to expose underground gold, wreaking havoc on the environment. Huge floating dredges scraped up millions of tons of river gravel; mercury used to extract gold leaked into rivers, disturbing the food chain; and hydraulic drills blasted apart mountainsides and riverbanks, forever changing landscape of northern California. The prevailing attitude of miners was that it was them against nature, and it took over 30 years to ban hydraulic mining and begin to change this attitude of exploitation. The legacy of the California Gold Rush is a state infused with an adventurous, entrepreneurial, multi-cultural spirit. California has since spawned other “rushes� including the Hollywood motion picture industry, the defense industry, and the computer industry of Silicon Valley. 49
The attraction and superiority of California are in its days. It has better days, and more of them, than any other country. — Ra l p h Wa l d o E m e r s o n
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CALIFORNIA íˇŽ
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Stanford University in Palo Alto was founded in memory of Leland Stanford, Jr. who died of typhoid fever just before his 16th birthday. The Stanfords dedicated the cornerstone of the nondenominational, co-educational university (unusual for the time) on May 14, 1887, the 19th anniversary of his birth. íˇŽ
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The world’s largest amphitheater is the Hollywood Bowl located in Hollywood, California. íˇŽ
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The name “California� comes from a Spanish romance story called Las Sergas de Esplandian, in which a queen called Califa ruled a mythical Spanish island. When Spanish explorers first discovered California, they believed it to be an island and named it for the popular heroine.
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The official state flower of California is the poppy; the state mammal is the grizzly bear; and the state tree (what else?) is the redwood. 80
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Seabiscuit—the underdog California racehorse—became an inspiration to Americans during the great depression, ultimately beating War Admiral—the great east coast Triple Crown winner— in what many consider the greatest horse race in history. íˇŽ
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In 1958, columnist Herb Caen gave the name “beatnikâ€? to the Beat Generation non-conformists. The “beatnik kitâ€? was promoted by Vesuvio CafĂŠ in San Francisco, where a list of notable Beats who had been booted out of the bar were engraved in the sidewalk outside the front door.
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The highest and lowest points in the lower 48 states are within 100 miles of each other in California: Mt. Whitney at 14,494 feet above sea level and Bad Water in Death Valley at 282 feet below sea level.
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The hottest day in American history was in California’s Death Valley on July 10, 1913. It was a sweltering 135˚F!
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BBQ Chicken Pizza
WHEN CALIFORNIA PIZZA KITCHEN FIRST OPENED ITS BEVERLY HILLS RESTAURANT IN 1985, THEY HAD A NEW CONCEPT OF WHAT PIZZA COULD BE: EVERYTHING YOU WANT, BUT WITH A TWIST. THEY CLAIM TO HAVE CREATED THE ORIGINAL BBQ CHICKEN PIZZA, WHICH HAS BEEN REPLICATED THROUGHOUT THE LAND. SINCE IMITATION IS THE SINCEREST FORM OF FLATTERY, WE OFFER OUR OWN TWIST ON THIS NOW CALIFORNIA CLASSIC—ENJOY THE FLAVOR OF THE WEST COAST NO MATTER WHERE YOU ARE. YOU MAY USE PREMADE PIZZA CRUST IF MAKING PIZZA CRUST SEEMS TOO DAUNTING. 82
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In a small bowl, dissolve the honey in the warm water.
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Sprinkle the yeast over the water and stir until it dissolves. Let the yeast mixture stand for 5 minutes, until a layer of foam forms on the surface.
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In a large bowl, combine the flour and the salt. Make a well in the center of the flour mixture and pour the olive oil and the yeast mixture.
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Stir the flour into the wet ingredients, until all the flour is incorporated. Adding more water if the dough seems too dry.
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On a lightly floured surface, knead the dough for 15 minutes, until it is smooth and elastic. Shape the dough into a ball and put in a well-oiled bowl. Cover with a moist towel and let rise in a warm place until double in bulk (about 11/2 hours).
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One hour before baking the pizzas, start preheating the oven with pizza stones inside at 500ËšF.
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While oven is preheating and dough is rising, heat olive oil over medium-high heat, add chicken and cook until done (about 8 minutes).
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Remove from heat. Coat chicken with 2 tablespoons barbecue sauce and place in refrigerator to cool slightly. As chicken cools, move back to the dough. Punch dough down, and divide into 4 equal portions.
10. Roll out each portion into a 6- to 8-inch flat circle. 11. Spread 1/4 cup barbecue sauce over the surface of each. Scatter cheese over the sauce followed by chicken and onion rings. 12. Place the pizza in the oven (on top of pizza stones). Bake until crust is crispy and cheese is bubbling (8-10 minutes). 13. Remove pizzas from the oven and garnish with chopped cilantro. Serve. SERVES 4
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1 tablespoon honey 1 cup warm water 2 teaspoons active dry yeast 3 cups all-purpose flour 1 teaspoon salt 1 tablespoon olive oil 10 ounces chicken breast, boned and skinned 2 tablespoons barbecue sauce 1 /2 cup barbecue sauce
2 cups smoked Gouda 1
/4 small red onion, sliced into rings 2 tablespoons cilantro
All the news of home, you read, just give you the blues, just give you the blues.
Sittin’ in a park in Paris, France, readin’ the news and it sure looks bad. They won’t give peace a chance. That was just a dream some of us had. Still a lot of lands to see, but I wouldn’t wanna stay here. It’s too old and cold and settled in its ways here. Ah, but California, California comin’ home. I’m gonna see the folks I dig. I’ll even kiss a Sunset pig. California I’m comin’ home.
So I bought me a ticket . . . and caught a plane to Spain, Went to a party down a red dirt road. There were lots of pretty people there . . . Reading Rollin’ Stone, reading Vogue . . . They said “How long can you hang around?” I said, “A week, maybe two . . . Just until my skin turns brown, and then I’m going home to California, California, I’m coming home . . .” Oh, will you take me as I am? . . . Strung out on another man. California, I’m a-comin’ home . . .
I met a red-neck on a Grecian Isle, who did the “goat dance” very well. He gave me back my smile, but he kept my camera to sell . . . Oh, the rogue, the red, red rogue. He cooked good omelettes and stews, And I might have stayed on with him there, but my heart cried out for you California, California, oh, make me feel good, rock and roll band . . . I’m your biggest fan . . . California, I’m a-comin’ home.
Chorus: Oh, it gets so lonely, when you’re walkin’ in a street so full of strangers. All the news of home, you read, just give you the blues, just give you the blues. So I read more about the war and the bloody changes oh, oh Will you take me as l am, will you take me as l am, will you take me as l am.
Chorus: Oh, it gets so lonely, when you’re walkin’ in a street so full of strangers.
CA L I F O R N I A BY 84
J O N I M I TC H E L L
A CHAIN OF 21 MISSIONS extend from San Diego, north through San Francisco, to Sonoma. The missions were settlements established by Spanish Catholic Franciscans to increase the Spanish presence in Alta California and convert the Native Americans to European Christian ways. The missionaries coerced local Native Americans to build and run the large ranches. In turn, the Spaniards introduced European religion, livestock, vegetables, fruits, and industry to the region. During the 1600s, Jesuit priests built a system of self-sufficient missions along the coast of what is now southern California, on land laid claim to by the Spaniards. But the Spaniards began to fear that Russian settlements advancing down the Pacific Coast would threaten their lands. In 1767, King Juan Carlos III of Spain decided to remove the Jesuits and began colonizing areas further northward. Ranches were built near the sea to serve as suppliers for future Spanish ships. These large missionary farms were placed about 30 miles apart (or a long day’s horse ride), and often along Native American trails, to make it easy for settlers to exchange goods and information, house travelers and convert Native Americans who walked the pathways. The road joining the missions became known as El Camino Real or “The King’s Highway.” This route remained a major north—south road until the 1920s, when much of it was incorporated into U.S. Highway 101.
THE CALIFORNIA MISSIONS
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The first nine missions were founded by Father Junipero Serra, beginning with the Mission San Diego de Alcala in 1769. When Father Serra died in 1784, Father Fermin Francisco LasuÊn took over, originating the next nine. Other Franciscans established the final three missions, concluding in 1823 with the Mission San Francisco de Solano in Sonoma. Native Americans who worked in the missions were taught the Spanish language and customs, as well as the Catholic religion. Though some were willing converts, many were not. When tribes approached the missions out of curiosity, they were often offered small gifts such as beads, blankets, and clothing in exchange for their labor. But once the Native Americans were inside the mission, most found they were not allowed to leave. Soldiers were posted at the missions to keep Native Americans from rebelling or escaping. Over the years, unconverted, resentful Native Americans attacked and raided various missions. In 1834, the Missions were officially secularized, and the Native Americans were allowed to return to their villages or stay on as ranch hands. Most modern missions are active churches, and some have held services nonstop since they were originally constructed. Though many were damaged or destroyed in natural disasters, the missions have largely been rebuilt and retain prominent positions in California history. They were featured in Helen Hunt Jackson’s romantic novel Ramona (1884) as well as in Hitchcock’s film Vertigo (1958) and are hugely popular tourist attractions. The most famous mission is Mission San Juan Capistrano, known throughout the world as the home of the swallows. Legend has it that the swallows first took refuge in the mission after their nests were destroyed by an angry local shopkeeper. Now every fall, on or around the Day of San Juan 88
(October 23rd), the swallows leave town in a flurried mass, flying 6,000 miles south to winter in Goya, Argentina. And every spring, on or around St. Joseph’s Day (March 19th), the swallows return to their mud nests amongst the ruins of Mission San Juan Capistrano’s church. Their annual return is marked by a jubilant festival that begins with bells ringing at the sight of the first swallow. 89
T H E S I LV E R A D O S Q U AT T E R S BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
A
change in the color of the light usually called me in the morning. By a certain hour, the long, vertical chinks in our western gable, where the boards had shrunk and separated, flashed suddenly into my eyes as stripes of dazzling blue, at once so dark and splendid that I used to marvel how the qualities could be combined. At an earlier hour, the heavens in that quarter were still quietly colored, but the shoulder of the mountain which shuts in the canyon already glowed with sunlight in a wonderful compound of gold and rose and green; and this too would kindle, although more mildly and with rainbow tints, the fissures of our crazy gable. If I were sleeping heavily, it was the bold blue that struck me awake; if more lightly, then I would come to myself in that earlier and fairer light. One Sunday morning, about five, the first brightness called me. I rose and turned to the east, not for my devotions, but for air. The night had been very still. The little private gale that blew every evening in our canyon, for ten minutes or perhaps a quarter of an hour, had swiftly blown itself out; in the hours that followed not a sigh of wind had shaken the treetops; and our barrack, for all its breaches, was less fresh that morning than of wont. But I had no sooner reached the window than I forgot all else in the sight that met my eyes, and I made but two bounds into my clothes, and down the crazy plank to the platform. The sun was still concealed below the opposite hilltops, though it was shining already, not twenty feet above my head, on our own mountain slope. But the scene, beyond a few near features, was entirely changed. Napa Valley was gone; gone were all the lower slopes and woody foothills of the range; and in their place, not a thousand feet below me, rolled a great level ocean. 91
It was as though I had gone to bed the night before, safe in a nook of inland mountains, and had awakened in a bay upon the coast. I had seen these inundations from below; at Calistoga I had risen and gone abroad in the early morning, coughing and sneezing, under fathoms on fathoms of gray sea vapor, like a cloudy sky—a dull sight for the artist, and a painful experience for the invalid. But to sit aloft one’s self in the pure air and under the unclouded dome of heaven, and thus look down on the submergence of the valley, was strangely different and even delightful to the eyes. Far away were hilltops like little islands. Nearer, a smoky surf beat about the foot of precipices and poured into all the coves of these rough mountains. The color of that fog ocean was a thing never to be forgotten. For an instant, among the Hebrides and just about sundown, I have seen something like it on the sea itself. But the white was not so opaline; nor was there, what surprisingly increased the effect, that breathless, crystal stillness cover all. Even in its gentlest moods the salt sea travails, moaning among the weeks or lisping on the sand; but that vast fog ocean lay in a trance of silence, nor did the sweet air of the morning tremble with a sound. As I continued to sit upon the dump, I began to observe that this sea was not so level as at first sight it appeared to be. Away in the extreme south, a little hill of fog arose against the sky above the general surface, and as it had already caught the sun, it shone on the horizon like the topsails of some giant ship. There were huge waves, stationary, as it seemed, like waves in a frozen sea; and yet, as I looked again, I was not sure but they were moving after all, with a slow and august advance. And while I was yet doubting, a promontory of the hills some four or five miles away, conspicuous by a bouquet 92
of tall pines, was in a single instant overtaken and swallowed up. It reappeared in a little, with its pines, but this time as an islet, and only to be swallowed up once more and then for good. This set me looking nearer, and I saw that in every cove along the line of mountains the fog was being piled in higher and higher, as though by some wind that was inaudible to me. I could trace its progress, one pine tree first growing hazy and then disappearing after another; although sometimes there was none of this fore-running haze, but the whole opaque white ocean gave a start and swallowed a piece of mountain at a gulp. It was to flee these poisonous fogs that I had left the seaboard, and climbed so high among the mountains. And now, behold, here came the fog to besiege me in my chosen altitudes, and yet came so beautifully that my first thought was of welcome. The sun had now gotten much higher, and through all the gaps of the hills it cast long bars of gold across that white ocean. An eagle, or some other very great bird of the mountain, came wheeling over the nearer pine-tops, and hung, poised and something sideways, as if to look abroad on that unwonted desolation, spying, perhaps with terror, for the aeries of her comrades. Then, with a long cry, she disappeared again towards Lake County and the clearer air. At length it seemed to me as if the flood were beginning to subside. The old landmarks, by whose disappearance I had measured its advance, here a crag, there a brave pine tree, now began, in the inverse order, to make their reappearance into daylight. I judged all danger of the fog was over. This was not Noah’s flood; it was but a morning spring, and would now drift out seaward whence it came. So, mightily relieved, and a good deal exhilarated by the light, I went into the house to light the fire. 93
H ere is a climate that breeds vigor, with just sufficient geniality to prevent the expenditure of most of that vigor in fighting the elements. —Jack London
FROM
THE SONG MT. TAMALPAIS SINGS BY
This is the last place. There is nowhere else to go. This is why once again we celebrate the Headland’s huge, cairn-studded fall into the sea.
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LEW WELCH
A R R I V I N G B Y T H E PA N A M A S T E A M E R , I stopped one day in San Francisco and then inquired for the nearest way out of town. “But where do you want to go?” asked the man to whom I had applied for this important information. “To any place that is wild,” I said. This reply startled him. He seemed to fear I might be crazy and therefore the sooner I was out of town the better, so he directed me to the Oakland ferry.
T Y
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So on the first of April, 1868, I set out afoot for Yosemite. It was the bloom-time of the year over the lowlands and coast ranges; the landscapes of the Santa Clara Valley were fairly drenched with sunshine, all the air was quivering with the songs of the meadowlarks, and the hills were so covered with flowers that they seemed to be painted. Slow indeed was my progress through these glorious gardens, the first of the California flora I had seen. Cattle and cultivation were making few scars as yet, and I wandered enchanted in long wavering curves, knowing by my pocket map that Yosemite Valley lay to the east and that I should surely find it. 98
Looking eastward from the summit of the Pacheco Pass one shining morning, a landscape was displayed that after all my wanderings still appears as the most beautiful I have ever beheld. At my feet lay the Great Central Valley of California, level and flowery, like a lake of pure sunshine, forty or fifty miles wide, five hundred miles long, one rich furred garden of yellow Compositae. And from the eastern boundary of this vast golden flower-bed rose the mighty Sierra, miles in height, and so gloriously colored and so radiant, it seemed not clothed with light, but wholly composed of it, like the wall of some celestial city. Along the top and extending a good way down, was a rich pearl-gray belt of snow; below it a belt of blue and dark purple, marking the extension of the forests; and stretching along the base of the range a broad belt of rose-purple; all these colors, from the blue sky to the yellow valley smoothly blending as they do in a rainbow, making a wall of light ineffably fine. Then it seemed to me that the Sierra should be called, not the Nevada or Snowy Range, but the Range of Light. And after ten years of wandering and wondering in the heart of it, rejoicing in its glorious floods of light, the white beams of the morning streaming through the passes, the noonday radiance on the crystal rocks, the flush of the alpenglow, and
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the irised spray of countless waterfalls, it still seems above all others the Range of Light. In general views no mark of man is visible upon it, nor anything to suggest the wonderful depth and grandeur of its sculpture. . . . Nevertheless the whole range five hundred miles long is furrowed with ca単ons 2,000 to 5,000 feet deep, in which once flowed majestic glaciers, and in which now flow and sing the bright rejoicing rivers. . . . The most famous and accessible of these ca単on valleys, and also the one that presents their most striking and sublime features on the grandest scale, is the Yosemite, situated in the basin of the Merced River at an elevation of 4,000 feet above the level of the sea. It is about seven miles long, half a mile to a mile wide, and nearly a mile deep in the solid granite flank of the range. The walls are made up of rocks, mountains in size, partly separated from each other by side ca単ons, and they are so sheer in front, and so compactly and harmoniously arranged on a level floor, that the Valley, comprehensively seen, looks like an immense hall or temple lighted from above. But no temple made with hands can compare with Yosemite. Every rock in its walls seems to glow with life. Some lean back in majestic repose; others, absolutely sheer or nearly so for thousands of feet,
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advance beyond their companions in thoughtful attitudes, giving welcome to storms and calms alike, seemingly aware, yet heedless, of everything going on about them. Awful in stern, immovable majesty, how softly these rocks are adorned, and how fine and reassuring the company they keep: their feet among beautiful groves and meadows, their brows in the sky, a thousand flowers leaning confidingly against their feet, bathed in floods of water, floods of light, while the snow and waterfalls, the winds and avalanches and clouds shine and sing and wreathe about them as the years go by, and myriads of small winged creatures—birds, bees, butterflies—give glad animation and help to make all the air into music. Down through the middle of the Valley flows the crystal Merced, River of Mercy, peacefully quiet, reflecting lilies and trees and the onlooking rocks; things frail and fleeting and types of endurance meeting here and blending in countless forms, as if into this one mountain mansion Nature had gathered her choicest treasures, to draw her lovers into close and confiding communion with her.
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T H E G R E AT O U T D O O R S :
CALIFORNIA’S N AT I O N A L PA R K S íˇŽ
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The Channel Islands National Park consists of five remote unpopulated islands off the coast—Anacapa, Santa Cruz, Santa Rosa, San Miguel, and Santa Barbara—stretching from just north of Ventura to just south of Los Angeles. íˇŽ
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Death Valley contains the hottest, driest, and lowest points in America. It got its name from lost pioneers, ultimately rescued, who had believed they would not survive this inhospitable site. íˇŽ
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More than 1.2 million people each year visit Death Valley’s rolling hills, golden sand dunes, lush tropical oases, and more than 900 species of plants and animals.
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The Channel Islands are home to over 2,000 species of wildlife—145 of which are found no where else in the world—and are surrounded by a marine sanctuary that protects thousands of species of sea life and houses a giant kelp forest.
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Named for its giant yucca trees, Joshua Tree National Park is bound 104
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Joshua Tree National Park has more than 500 archeological sites and 88 historic structures, as well as five spring-fed oases covered in fan palms. íˇŽ
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Sequoia and Kings Canyon—separately founded but jointly administered—is a “superpark,â€? 66 miles long and 36 miles across at its widest point. It contains the gravity defying stalactites of both Crystal Cave and Cedar Grove, which John Muir once called a “rival of Yosemite.â€? íˇŽ
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A hiker can retreat further into nature (and away from roads) in Sequoia and Kings Canyon than anywhere else in the country and enjoy the amazing spectacle of the oldest trees on earth, the sequoias.
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The Joshua tree is the only tree that grows in California’s Mojave Desert.
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The California redwoods—coast redwoods and giant sequoia— are the tallest and largest living organisms in the world. íˇŽ
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The tallest living things on Earth were in danger of being logged out of existence not so long ago, and in 1978 Congress added 48,000 acres to Redwood, including 36,000 acres that had already been clear cut.
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Yosemite National Park is visited by more than 4 million people a year. Hikers can find solitude in the breathtaking mountain vistas or join the multitude of visitors in the valley (over 14,000 on any given summer day). íˇŽ
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Made up of Jedediah Smith, Del Norte Coast, and Prairie Creek state parks, the Redwood National Park encompasses 45% of all of the oldgrowth redwood trees in California.
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The quiet forests and crystal-clear lakes of Lassen Volcanic National Park belie the fire that lurks beneath their surface. Formed by eruptions from the ancient volcanano Mt. Tehama, Lassen has been sleeping since 1921, but the thermal steam rising from the ground, bubbling mud pools, and new growth on the devastated landscape draws nearly a half million visitors a year.
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Established in 1890, Yosemite National Park is the home to Yosemite Falls (the highest falls in North America), the massive cliffs of El Capitan, and the grandeur of Mariposa Grove (the largest grouping of sequoias in the park). 106
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W onder, delight, freedom, adventure, excitement, are as much a part of the mountains as peaks and forests. Realism is for tamer landscapes; the mountains are inescapably romantic. — Wa l l a c e S t e g n e r
Brown Rice Pudding with California Raisins CALIFORNIA IS KNOWN FOR ITS RAISINS, YET ITS FIRST CROP OF THIS CHEWY, SWEET FRUIT WAS PROBABLY A MISTAKE. IN THE LATE 1800S, FARMERS IN THE SAN JOAQUIN VALLEY ENCOUNTERED A MAJOR HEAT WAVE THAT CAUSED THEIR GRAPES TO DIE ON THE VINE BEFORE THEY COULD BE HARVESTED. LUCKILY, THEY DISCOVERED THAT THE DRIED GRAPES WERE STILL DELICIOUS, AND NOW THE SAN JOAQUIN VALLEY PRODUCES ABOUT HALF OF THE WORLD’S SUPPLY OF RAISINS. THESE DAYS, GRAPES ARE PICKED RIPE AND LAID OUT IN THE CALIFORNIA SUN TO DRY FOR AS LONG AS THREE WEEKS. CALIFORNIA RAISINS GIVE THIS BROWN RICE PUDDING THE PERFECT AMOUNT OF SWEETNESS.
1 cup brown rice 5 cups milk 1 /2 cup California raisins 1
/4 cup golden raisins 1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise and scraped
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In a large saucepan, bring the rice, milk, raisins, vanilla bean and scrapings, candied ginger, orange zest, and one cup of sugar to a simmer on low heat.
2 tablespoons candied ginger, chopped
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Cover, and stirring occasionally, simmer for 35-40 minutes, or until rice is tender.
1 orange, zested
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Remove pot from heat and add egg yolks, stirring constantly until the mixture is thick and creamy.
1 cup sugar
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Place warm rice pudding in serving dishes, cover tightly and refrigerate until cool (at least 2 hours or overnight). Serve.
O P T I O NA L GA R N I S H :
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When ready to serve, place remaining cup of sugar in a small skillet over medium-high heat.
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Cook sugar until it turns a deep-caramel color. While sugar is cooking, remove rice pudding from refrigerator. Top with whipped cream.
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Once sugar has finished caramelizing, carefully drizzle over the whipped cream-topped rice pudding. Serve.
SERVES 4 113
4 egg yolks, lightly beaten 1 additional cup sugar, optional Whipped cream, for garnish, optional
Hooray for Hollywood! That screwy ballyhooey Hollywood, Where any office boy or young mechanic can be a panic, with just a good looking pan, And any barmaid can be a star maid, If she dances with or without a fan.
Hooray for Hollywood! That phony super Coney Hollywood, They come from Chillicothes and Paducahs with their bazookas to get their names up in lights, All armed with photos from local rotos, With their hair in ribbons and legs in tights.
Hooray for Hollywood! Where you’re terrific if you’re even good, Where anyone at all from Shirley Temple to Aimee Semple is equally understood, Go out and try your luck, You might be Donald Duck! Hooray for Hollywood!
Hooray for Hollywood! You may be homely in your neighborhood, But if you think that you can be an actor, see Mister Factor, he’d make a monkey look good, Within a half an hour, You’ll look like Tyrone Power! Hooray for Hollywood!
H O O R AY F O R H O L LY W O O D LY R I C S 114
BY
JOHNNY MERCER
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HOLLYWOOD IS MUCH MORE than a place. It is a word that conjures up images of the glamorous, and sometimes seedy, universe of movies, entertainment, and celebrities. But moviemaking didn’t start there. It, like so many Californians, is a transplant. Movie cameras were first developed in America and Europe in the 1890s, and by
LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACT I O N ! H O L LY W O O D the turn of the century, the first movies were being produced in New York City and Chicago. In 1908, because competition was fierce, rules were few, and piracy was pervasive, the 10 largest production companies banded together to control the industry, often enforcing their dominance by ransacking other studios. In defiance of the East Coast bullies, independent filmmakers moved to California, drawn to its plentiful space, willing workers, beautiful landscapes, reliable climate, and nonstop sunshine. In 1911, the Nestor Company opened Hollywood’s first film studio. By 1915, the courts had busted the East Coast monopoly and new “indie” studios, such as Universal, Paramount, and Fox, began setting up shop around Los Angeles in “Hollywoodland.” To cement their control of not only production and distribution, but also exhibition, studios began buying theaters around the country. 116
In the beginning, short, documentary-like “picture shows” were shown after vaudeville acts as a way of chasing people out. But movie storytelling quickly evolved. The Life of an American Fireman (1903) depicted a character’s thoughts, and The Great Train Robbery (1903) used jumps in time to skip nonessential events. Legendary director D.W. Griffith began making long, serious films using close-ups to increase intimacy, panoramic shots to reveal a film’s environment, and editing techniques such as fades and dissolves to symbolize characters’ mental states. Mack Sennett made people laugh drawing on slapstick, his crazy Keystone cops, and the talents of young vaudevillian performer Charlie Chaplin. By the late 1920s, Hollywood was churning out movies at an outlandish pace. High-powered producers, such as Adolph Zukor, Louis B. Mayer, and Samuel Goldwyn, dominated the industry. In 1927, the Motion Picture Academy of Arts and Sciences launched an annual award ceremony (later nicknamed the Oscars) that upped the reputation and exposure of the industry. But the release of The Jazz Singer (1927), the first feature-length film with synchronous sound, turned Hollywood on its ear, marking the death of silent pictures and the ruin of many silent film stars whose voices didn’t live up to their dazzling images. 117
During the Great Depression of the 1930s, movie attendance was almost three times higher than it is today. In 1938, more than 80 million people per week went to the movies. Studios answered the incredible demand by perfecting their factory-like system, controlling the financing, screenwriting, directing, editing, and distribution, and making formula film after formula film. Much like theater companies, studios chose actors from groups they already employed. Major studios became known for certain specialties: MGM for its stars (Greta Garbo, Clark Gable, Jimmy Stewart); Paramount for its writers and directors (Billy Wilder, Cecil B. DeMille); RKO for its musicals (starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers), comedies (starring Cary Grant), B-movies (Cat People, 1942), and thought-provoking fare (Citizen Kane, 1941); Fox for its adventure and historical movies; Universal for its horror classics (Frankenstein, 1931, Dracula, 1931); and Warner Bros. for its gangster movies (Scarface, 1932), biographies (The Life of Emile Zola, 1937), and musicals (Busby Berkley’s movies). Majestic movie palaces and suburban drive-ins were erected all across the United States. At its peak in 1946, the industry grossed nearly $2 billion. But in 1948, the courts ruled that studios could no longer both make movies and own the exhibiting theaters. The studios were also wrangling with national politics and the new, popular medium of television. The House Un-American Activities Committee, 118
formed in 1947, set out to expose Hollywood’s communist sympathizers. And for over 10 years, Hollywood’s self-imposed blacklist kept many entertainment professionals from working or, at the very least, from getting proper screen credit. To compete with TV, the studios premiered flashy, new technologies, such as Smell-O-Vision, 3-D, and CinemaScope. New revenue streams opened up in 1956, when Hollywood inked a deal that allowed studios to broadcast old movies on television. But 1962 saw only $900 million in boxoffice receipts, and by 1968 little more than 20 million people per week were turning out for movies. To save money, the studios stopped renewing contracts and began hiring independent cast and crew for each film (as they still do.) Many cite the mammoth-budget failure Cleopatra (1963) as the film that marked the collapse of the old-studio system.
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Movies of the 1950s and ’60s traded razzle dazzle for a grittier realism and independent filmmakers began to make their mark. A spate of science fiction, rock ’n’ roll, and horror films were aimed at adolescents. Rejecting traditional celebrity glitz, younger audiences responded to anti-heroes and edgy depictions of sex and violence. Art films from Europe made people hungry for more intellectual fodder. Embracing previously underground forms of moviemaking, Hollywood produced films such as The Graduate (1967), Bonnie and Clyde (1968), and Easy Rider (1969). People returned to the theaters, and subsequently, the 1970s marked the rise of many great filmmakers, including Robert Altman (M*A*S*H, 1970), Francis Ford Coppola (The Godfather, 1972), and Martin Scorsese (Taxi Driver, 1973). When Steven Spielberg’s Jaws (1975) grossed over $100 million by appealing to men and women of all ages, the paradigm again shifted. Filmmakers were pushed to make spectacle films aimed at the widest possible audience. Blockbusters such as Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) and E.T. (1982) were hugely successful. Special effects showcased in films such as Star Wars (1977) were increasingly relied on, and their quality improved dramatically. In the 1980s, the film industry profited from the proliferation of cheaper VCRs and the easing of government regulations separating production and distribution. As drive-ins fell into disrepair, indoor movie multiplexes sprang up in cities and suburbs. Burgeoning cable companies offered new avenues of entertainment that encouraged more independent productions. Though the recession of the early 1990s affected box-office revenues, sales picked up again by 1993. And while mainstream, big-budget, special effects-laden films were still the rage, independent filmmakers began proving they could compete with the studios. African-American filmmakers such as Spike Lee (Mo’ Better Blues, 1990) and John Singleton (Boyz N the Hood, 1991), female directors such as Nora Ephron (Sleepless in Seattle, 1993), and 122
female writers such as Calli Khouri (Thelma and Louise, 1991) made names for themselves. Hollywood tried make money while tackling serious themes such as AIDS (Philadelphia, 1993) and the Holocaust (Schindler’s List, 1993). But stars’ salaries, agency fees, production costs, and marketing expenses soared. Studios looking for sure-fire hits produced more and more high-speed action-thrillers, remakes, re-releases, and sequels. Nevertheless, independent studios produced four of the five Best Picture nominees in 1996. As we begin the 21st Century, Hollywood seems to be entering the digital age. The Matrix trilogy’s (1993, 1999, 2003) use of computer-generated images revolutionized the action-movie genre. Finding Nemo (2003) was an extremely successful, entirely computer-generated animated film. And The Lord of the Rings trilogy (2001, 2002, 2003) skillfully incorporated cuttingedge digital effects, helping them snag a total of 17 Oscars. But whatever is in store—and despite the fact that most studios have moved from Hollywoodproper to nearby areas—“Hollywood” remains the American film industry’s symbolic heart and soul.
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CALIFORNIA CONFIDENTIAL íˇŽ
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In January of 1947, the body of aspiring actress Elizabeth Short was found severed into two. Her death was dubbed “The Black Dahlia Murderâ€? due to her jet-black hair and black clothes. Short’s address book (with one page removed) and her birth certificate were sent by her killer to the LAPD. More than 50 people confessed to the murder, and to this day there are still new theories and investigations, but the case has never been closed íˇŽ
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California’s most elusive serial killer is suspected of killing 49 victims— including 39 women—in northern California between October 1966 and May 1981. The Zodiac Killer is famous for writing 21 letters to local press and police explaining that he was killing to “collect slaves,â€? to serve him in the afterlife. The case remains open to this day. íˇŽ
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Claiming to get his instruction from the Beatles’ song, “Helter Skelter,� Charles Manson led a satanic cult in the late ’60s, whose members or “creepy crawlers� traveled California committing random, ritualistic killings. They are best known for the murder of actress Sharon Tate, Roman Polanksi’s pregnant wife. Even after his imprisonment in 1969, Manson followers continued to terrorize Californians well into the ’70s.
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On August 4, 1962, at age 36, actress Marilyn Monroe was found dead in her Brentwood bungalow, an apparent victim of suicide by barbiturate overdose. However, many continue to speculate on the true cause of her death. 125
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Patty Hearst, granddaughter of legendary newspaper publisher William Randolph Hearst, was kidnapped at gunpoint in Berkeley in February 1974. Claiming to belong to the Symbionese Liberation Army (SLA), they demanded food for the poor as ransom. Her family paid, but two months later Patty—who claimed she had been tortured and brainwashed—aided the group in a San Francisco bank robbery. Caught and sent to jail for 35 years, her sentence was later shortened to seven years. íˇŽ
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In a 133-day televised trial that captivated America and the world, Orenthal James Simpson, the footballstar-turned-sports-announcer, was found not guilty of murdering his ex-wife Nicole Brown and her friend Ronald Goldman in 1995. However, in a civil trial two years later, O.J. was found liable in both deaths and ordered to pay the Goldman family $8.5 million. Brown and Goldman were found brutally stabbed outside her Brentwood condominium the night of June 12, 1994.
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The Night Stalker terrorized Los Angeles in June of 1984 by entering homes through unlocked doors and windows and torturing his victims to death. In just three weeks, he claimed at least 16 lives before being caught and revealed as Richard Ramirez. He was sentenced to death in November 1989, and told reporters, “I’ll see you all at Disneyland.� Ramirez is currently on San Quentin’s death row.
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In January 1976, adopted cousins Ken Bianchi and Angelo Buono became the “Hillside Stranglers.� In two months they abducted and killed ten women in Los Angeles, frequently leaving the dead, naked bodies displayed on the highway embankments and hillsides of the crime scene. They captured their victims by impersonating policemen and stopping female motorists or nabbing prostitutes, and subjected 126
them to torture, sexual assault, and brutality before strangling them. Buono died in prison in September 2002. Bianchi is still in prison. íˇŽ
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was arrested a month later. Police discovered the remains of up to 25 men, women, and children who been sexually assaulted, murdered, burned, and scattered on Lake’s property. After a trial that cost the state more than $10 million (the most expensive in its history), Ng now sits on California’s death row.
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In the 1930s, Benjamin “Bugsyâ€? Siegel arrived from New York to become the Syndicate’s Los Angeles Mafia Boss. He hobnobbed with such celebrities Jean Harlow, Clark Gable, Gary Cooper, and Cary Grant while convincing the mob to invest $6 million to build a Las Vegas casino, the Flamingo. But a hit was ordered on him when the casino was an initial flop and Bugsy was suspected of skimming money off the top. Bugsy was murdered at the home of longtime lover Virginia Hill in Beverly Hills in 1947. íˇŽ
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Leonard Lake and Charles Ng built a torture chamber and snuff film parlor in a remote northern California ranch. Lake was caught in June, 1985, took a cyanide pill, and died four days later. Ng escaped but 127
SHANGRI-LA BY
In New York they think all of California is like L.A. And they think everyone in L.A. has a maid. And they don’t believe you if you try to tell them. —Radio talk show caller It’s true, here we are all blonde, even in the dark, on Mondays or in slow traffic. Even in our off-guard moments, startled by a passer-by, we are young. Here we are all privileged, even in our sleep. At night the maids hover like sweetly 129
SUZANNE LUMMIS
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Divide lettuce onto 2 plates and drizzle generously with dressing, reserving any extra to be served on the side.
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Evenly divide and arrange chicken, eggs, tomatoes, blue cheese, bacon, avocado, and green onions in a row on top of the lettuce. Serve.
SERVES 2 135
C alifornia became the first to discover that it was fantasy that led to reality, not the other way around. — Wi l l i a m I r w i n T h o m p s o n
FROM
THE WHITE ALBUM BY JOAN DIDION
T
o understand what was going on it is perhaps necessary to have participated in the freeway experience, which is the only secular communion Los Angeles has. Mere driving on the freeway is in no way the same as participating in it. Anyone can “drive” on the freeway, and many people with no vocation for it do, hesitating here and resisting there, losing the rhythm of the lane change, thinking about where they came from and where they are going. Actual participants think only about where they are. Actual participation requires a total surrender, a concentration so intense as to seem a kind of narcosis, a rapture-of-thefreeway. The mind goes clean. The rhythm takes over. A distortion of time occurs, the same distortion that characterizes the instant before an accident. It takes only a few seconds to get off the Santa Monica Freeway at National-Overland, which is a difficult exit requiring the driver to cross two new lanes of traffic streamed in from the San Diego Freeway, but those few second always seem to me the longest part of the trip. The moment is dangerous. The exhilaration is in doing it. “As you acquire the special skills involved,” Reyner Banham observed in an extraordinary chapter about the freeways in his 1971 Los Angeles: The Architecture of Four Ecologies, “the freeways become a special way of being alive . . . the extreme concentration required in Los Angeles seems to bring on a state of heightened awareness that some locals find mystical.” 138
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A S A W R I T E R I N H O L LY W O O D , I spent more time arguing than writing—until the last four years when the British boycott left me without much bargaining power. My chief memory of movieland is one of asking in the producer’s office why must I change the script, eviscerate it, cripple and hamstring it? Why must I strip the hero of his few semi-intelligent remarks and why must I tack on a corny ending that makes the stomach shudder? Half of all the movie writers argue in this fashion. The other half writhe in silence, and the psychoanalyst’s couch or the liquor bottle claim them both.
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Before it might seem that I am writing about a tribe of Shelleys in chains, I should make it clear that the movie writers “ruined” by the movies are for the most part a run of greedy hacks and incompetent thickheads. Out of the thousand writers huffing and puffing through movieland there are scarcely fifty men and women of wit or talent. The rest of the fraternity is deadwood. Yet, in a curious way, there is not much difference between 140
the product of a good writer and a bad one. They both have to toe the same mark. Nor are the bad writers better off spiritually. Their way is just as thorny. Minus talent or competence, the need for self-expression churns foolishly in them and their hearts throw themselves in a wild pitch for fame. And no less than the literary elite of Hollywood they feel the string of its knout. However cynical, overpaid, or inept you are, it is impossible to create entertainment without feeling the urges that haunt creative work. The artist’s ego, even the ego of the Hollywood hack, must always jerk around a bit under restraint. The studio bosses are not too inconvenienced by this bit of struggle. Experience has proved that the Hollywood artist in revolt is usually to be brought to heel by a raise in salary. My own discontent with what I was asked to do in Hollywood was so loud that I finally received a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars for four weeks of script writing. 141
H O L LY W O O D íˇŽ
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Charlie Chaplin, Hollywood’s silent comedian with the trademark splayfooted walk, had his feet insured for $150,000 in the 1920s— a fortune at the time. íˇŽ
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In 1978, the Hollywood sign was rebuilt at a cost of $28,000 per letter. The new and improved sign stands 45 feet high, 450 feet long, and weighs 480,000 pounds!
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Alfred Hitchcock bought the rights to Psycho anonymously from novelist Robert Bloch for just $9,000. He then bought up as many copies of the novel as he could to keep the ending a secret. íˇŽ
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The first 1,558 stars on the “Hollywood Walk of Fame� were installed in 1960, with Joanne Woodward receiving the very first star! Since then, about two new stars are added per month. Each one is made from pink terrazzo and brass.
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The world-famous Hollywood sign was built in 1926 to advertise a prestigious new housing subdivision. It originally read “Hollywoodland.�
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Ever wonder what some of your favorite film stars’ favorite films are? 142
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Madonna loves To Kill A Mockingbird; Halle Berry’s first choice is Thelma & Louise; Jackie Chan likes The Sound of Music; Tim Robbins likes Waiting for Guffman; and Robert Duvall’s pick is My Life as a Dog—just to name a few. íˇŽ
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The legendary footprints outside of the Mann Chinese Theater were actually started by accident! Silent film star Norma Talmadge started the trend when she mistakenly stepped in wet cement while visiting the newly built theater.
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The person awarded the most total Oscars over his lifetime was Walt Disney. The grand total was 26 statuettes! íˇŽ
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Hollywood’s longest Oscar acceptance speech was given by Greer Garson in 1942, when she won Best Actress for Mrs. Miniver. It lasted over five minutes.
Numerous fictional characters have stars on the “Walk,â€? including Lassie, Rin Tin Tin, Mickey Mouse, Bugs Bunny, Woody Woodpecker, Snow White, Big Bird, and Donald Duck. íˇŽ
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The mechanical shark for Steven Spielberg’s Jaws (1975) wasn’t water tested during construction. When it was finally put in the water in Martha’s Vineyard for shooting, it sank straight to the ocean floor! A team of divers had to retrieve it.
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In 1999, a bedazzling Whoopi Goldberg wore $41 million worth of Elizabethan jewels to the Academy Awards, on loan from Harry Winston. The ensemble, which included a $15 million diamond ring, was the most valuable collection ever worn to the Oscars.
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During World War II, metal was scarce, so the Academy awarded plaster statuettes on Oscar night. After the war, winners exchanged them for the traditional gold-plated statues. 143
I can see it all now. I will never forget what you meant to me. Don’t have a single regret. And I was feelin’ alright when it was just me and you. We loved with all of our might. That’s all we wanted to do. There ain’t a lot we had to know except that I wanted you to be wherever I’d go. Will anything ever be sweeter than those days? Nobody’s gonna replace all that we shared with each other in those days, back in those sweet L. A. days, sweet L. A. days. No one could ever replace how on a Saturday night we would jump in your car
and how we’d drive through the night and maybe not get that far. There wasn’t much we had to learn except that we knew the road would take us through every turn. Will anything ever be sweeter than those days? Nobody’s gonna replace all that we shared with each other in those days, back in those sweet L. A. days, sweet L. A. days. Ooee baby it’s takin’ me back, back to those L.A. days, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet L.A. days. They can’t be taken away, not those L.A. days, no, those L.A. days, sweet L.A. days.
S W E E T L . A . DAY S LY R I C 144
BY
NEIL DIAMOND
WHEN PROSPECTORS RUSHED WEST in search of gold in 1849, they marked the beginning of another California obsession—the fight for liquid gold, a.k.a. water. Before the 49ers began using Sierra mountain streams to find and process ore, water was considered an inexhaustible resource covered by “riparian” rights, meaning that whoever owned the land was entitled to a share of the water that passed through it. But as water became more precious, new “appropriative” rights evolved. Applying the “finders, keepers” rule used for gold strikes, miners posted signs appropriating the rights to water they needed, and a system of seniority and constancy of use developed. Other types of Californian water rights include reserved rights (rights set aside by the federal government), and pueblo rights (city rights to water based on Spanish and Mexican law.) California now has at least six overlapping legal principles that govern water distribution. A large body of case law has established an uneasy hierarchy among them, but confusion and disputes continue to this day. In California, irrigation has become increasingly vital, as water supply is often found hundreds of miles away from where is it most required. A prime example is the Imperial Valley, a now-fertile region in the Colorado Desert. Though the valley only gets three inches of rain per year, it has one of the longest growing seasons in the United States (over 300 days) and with irrigation can produce two crops a year. In the late 1930s, the 80-mile All-American Canal was built, drawing water from the Colorado River to irrigate approximately one million acres. Today the Imperial Valley is a major source of dates, cotton, grains, and dairy, as well as winter fruits and vegetables consumed in the northern United States.
WATER WARS
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But since the time of the Gold Rush, water has been coveted by people with conflicting agricultural, domestic, and environmental needs. Between 1919 and 1923, the Hetch Hetchy Valley was dammed and flooded to provide water for San Francisco, turning a picturesque valley within Yosemite National Park into a reservoir. The fierce debate between environmentalists striving to preserve wilderness and those more concerned with best managing its use began. The most infamous water conflict was the San Fernando Valley land grab and the subsequent “rape” of Owens Valley. At the turn of the century, Los Angeles’s expansion was threatened by a shortage of water. A group of civic leaders began to quietly buy up water rights in an undeveloped agricultural valley 200 miles north of where the U.S. Bureau of Reclamation was considering a major irrigation project. The city speculators convinced Los Angelinos to support an aqueduct that would divert the Owens Valley River water to their city. The federal government abandoned their irrigation plans in 1906 and the aqueduct was completed in 1913. Owens Lake is now a dry lakebed, and thousands of acres of agricultural land in Owens Valley are abandoned. The neo-noir film Chinatown (1974), starring Jack Nicholson, was loosely based on the land-grab scandal. And California’s water wars rage on. Due to a variety of influences, including environmental movements of the 1960s, ‘70s, and ‘80s, cutbacks in federally funded water projects, California’s rapid population growth in the late 1980s, and global climate change, California’s water rights and water protection issues are becoming more complex. Indeed, as former E.P.A. Chief Christine Witman warned in 2002, it seems water quality and quantity will be “the biggest environmental issue we face in the 21st century.” 149
CALIFORNIA COLORS A SONG BY
CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN
I came from Santa Barbara, I went to San Jose, Blue sky above—blue sea beside, Wild gold along the way— The lovely lavish blossom gold Ran wild along the way. The purple mountains loomed beyond, The soft hills rolled between, From crest to crest, like smoke at rest, The eucalyptus screen Its careless foliage drifting by Against that all-enfolding sky The dusky glimmering green; With live-oak masses drowsing dark On the slopes of April green; More joy than any eye can hold, Not only blue, not only gold, But bronze and olive green.
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Shrimp and Avocado Salad A QUINTESSENTIAL CALIFORNIA MEAL, THIS CREATIVE SALAD INCORPORATES FRESH SHRIMP AND CREAMY AVOCADOS, TWO INGREDIENTS READILY AVAILABLE IN THE GOLDEN STATE. AVOCADOS, BROUGHT TO CALIFORNIA FROM MEXICO, HAVE BECOME AN IMPORTANT CASH CROP FOR THE STATE, WHICH PRODUCES 95 PERCENT OF THE AVOCADOS SOLD IN THE UNITED STATES. THE SWEET MANGO AND ZESTY VINAIGRETTE PERFECTLY ACCENT THE PEPPERY ARUGULA AND SALTY SHRIMP, MAKING THIS AN EASY DINNER SALAD TO ENJOY ANY NIGHT OF THE WEEK. 1.
Begin by preparing the vinaigrette in a large bowl (you will be tossing the shrimp in later).
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Whisk all ingredients together and set aside.
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Combine avocado, mango, and red onion. Dress lightly with vinaigrette. Set aside and begin preparing shrimp.
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To prepare to shrimp, season with salt and pepper.
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Heat oil in a heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Add shrimp, garlic, and orange zest.
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When cooked through (about 3 minutes), remove from heat and add orange juice.
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Add shrimp, garlic, and orange to vinaigrette. Toss to combine.
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In another bowl, lightly toss arugula with a few tablespoons of vinaigrette. Lightly salt and pepper and divide onto 4 plates.
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Mound avocado and mango onto center of each plate and surround with shrimp.
10. Drizzle with dressing and serve warm. (Reserve any additional dressing for later use.) SERVES 4 153
VINAIGRETTE: 1 /2 cup olive oil 1
/4 cup raspberry vinegar
1 lime, juiced and zested 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard 1 tablespoon paprika 1 teaspoon sugar 1 /4 cup chopped cilantro Salt and pepper to taste SALAD: 2 (loosely packed) cups arugula 1 Haas avocado, peeled, seeded, and diced 1 mango, peeled, seeded, and diced 1 /4 cup red onion, finely chopped SHRIMP: 20 large shrimp, peeled and deveined Salt and pepper to taste 1 orange, zested and juiced 1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil 3 cloves garlic, minced
CALIFORNIA ON THE BIG SCREEN CLASSICS
fall of a wealthy newspaper publisher corrupted and isolated by power.
All About Eve (1950): A seemingly naive ingénue worms her way into the inner circle of her supposed idol, a talented but aging stage actress.
East of Eden (1955): The black sheep of a pre-World War I truck farming family competes with his brother for his father’s love in this modern Cain and Abel story.
Chinatown (1974): A 1930s L.A. private detective hired to investigate an adultery case uncovers a plot involving water shortages, land acquisition, bribery, and murder.
Escape from Alcatraz (1979): In this dramatization of a real (and possibly successful) 1962 escape attempt, three men plan and execute an elaborate prison break from a maximumsecurity penitentiary located on an island in the San Francisco Bay.
Citizen Kane (1941): Orson Wells’ landmark film, whose central character is loosely based on William Randolph Hearst, depicts the rise and 154
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he’d rejected, tries to evade the law and keep his job after committing a desperate act.
Beverly Hills Cop (1984): When his best friend is murdered, a brash, wisecracking Detroit cop heads to stiff, upscale Beverly Hills to track down the killer.
What’s up Doc? (1972): An absentminded professor is pursued by a flakey coed dropout as they both become involved in a madcap search for missing jewels, top-secret documents, and igneous rocks.
Clueless (1995): In this modern adaptation of Jane Austen’s Emma, a popular Beverly Hills teen, who enjoys playing matchmaker and making-over friends, discovers that when it comes to her own love life, she’s pretty clueless.
DRAMA Coming Home (1978): A lonely woman whose hawkish husband is fighting in Vietnam changes her politics and experiences a sexual awakening when she falls for an embittered vet paralyzed in combat.
Gidget (1959): A perky, teenage tomboy spends the summer in Malibu learning about surfing and love from a cool beach bum.
Dirty Harry (1971): A maverick detective with little concern for rules tries to hunt down a sadistic serial killer.
The Parent Trap (1998): When identical twins who were separated at birth meet at summer camp, they plot to switch places and reunite their estranged parents.
E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982): A young boy befriends a stranded alien botanist and helps him return to his home planet.
The Player (1992): In this vicious Hollywood satire, a studio executive, threatened by a mysterious writer 155
Pretty Woman (1990): A corporate raider hires a free-spirited prostitute to be his escort for the week and unexpectedly falls in love.
The Graduate (1967): A confused, directionless college graduate is seduced by the wife of his father’s friend, only to fall in love with the spiteful woman’s daughter.
Pulp Fiction (1994): This film of violence and redemption interweaves multiple storylines involving two hit men and their boss’s wife, a down-and-out fighter asked to take a dive, and two lovers who hold up a diner.
Mommie Dearest (1981): Based on a the life of actress Joan Crawford as seen through the eyes of her adopted children, this film is a searing account of how problems with men, alcohol, and show biz turn the declining star into an abusive mother.
Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988): Animated and live-action characters co-mingle as a cartoon rabbit hires a cartoon-hating detective to investigate alleged infidelities of the rabbit’s wife and later prove the rabbit’s innocence when he is accused of murder.
MUSIC & ROMANCE Almost Famous (2000): A high-school journalist, asked by Rolling Stone to cover an up-and-coming band on tour, struggles to maintain his objectivity as he’s seduced by the 1970’s rock scene.
HORROR & SUSPENSE The Birds (1963): A rich female socialite visits a friend in his sleepy coastal town, upsetting his possessive mother and his former lover and seemingly triggering an onslaught of terrifying, chaotic bird attacks.
Harold and Maude (1971): Harold, a young depressive obsessed with death, falls for the vivacious, 79-year-old Maude and finally learns to appreciate life. 156
Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978): The last four humans left in San Francisco struggle to survive after they discover that people are being replaced with emotionless alien clones. Pacific Heights (1990): An overmortgaged couple leases the downstairs level of their dream house to a sociopathic scam artist who’s out to claim the house for himself. Play Misty for Me (1971): When a male disc jockey tries to return to his girlfriend after having a brief fling with a female fan, the fan’s obsession takes a frightening and perhaps even deadly turn. Poltergeist (1982): When poltergeists kidnap a suburban family’s daughter and trap her in the spirit world, the family calls in a team of paranormal experts to perform an elaborate exorcism. Psycho (1960): A young female embezzler makes the unfortunate decision to check into the Bates Motel, an establishment run by a troubled man with terrible secrets. 157
That limousine in which you made the scene suits you to a “T” if all that you want to be is somebody that don’t never walk.
I heard it said that you had it made with your movie star. But oh, how right you are if that’s really ’bout the best you can do.
That big chateau where you want to go in the South of France gonna end our big romance. Don’t you do it.
You moved my soul, so I played the role of your backdoor man. Yes, and now I can’t really complain, ’cause I love you.
Honey, don’t leave L.A. That Riviera’s so far away. Begging you, s’il vous plaît. They don’t know nothing down in St.–Tropez. Baby, don’t you leave L.A.
Honey, don’t leave L.A. That Riviera’s so far away. Begging you, s’il vous plaît. They don’t know nothing down in St.–Tropez. Mama, don’t you leave, baby, don’t you leave L.A.
H O N E Y, D O N ’ T L E AV E L . A . BY
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DA N N Y KO R TC H M A R
AT THE HEIGHT of the Great Depression, visionaries at the west edge of America were dreaming of ways to span San Francisco Bay. A seemingly impossible feat, this colossal undertaking would ultimately spawn two simultaneous projects: the first to connect San Francisco with Oakland, and the second to link the city with its northern neighbors.
SPANNING THE BAY: BUILDING THE BRIDGES OF SAN FRANCISCO A bridge connecting San Francisco and Oakland had been imagined ever since the Gold Rush, but was always deemed financially and architecturally impossible. The deep waters and murky bay bottom presented numerous engineering issues, and the distance between the two cities (four and a half miles) seemed too far to connect. The advent of mass-produced automobiles and the volume of commuters (over 46 million people rode the ferries in 1928) led to the creation of the Toll Bridge Authority, charged with making the Bay Bridge a reality. The Authority appointed engineer Charles Purcell to map out the design and construction of the bridge. On the other side of San Francisco, an engineer named Joseph Strauss worked to convince the city to build a bridge across the Golden Gate. For 220
nearly twelve years, he battled opposition from ferryboat operators and the military before he won their support for the bridge. Since all available municipal funds had already been allocated to the Bay Bridge project, six counties formed the Golden Gate Bridge and Highway District to raise money. Residents ratified a $35 million bond to fund the construction, which began on January 5, 1933. Meanwhile, construction was well underway on the San Francisco— Oakland Bay Bridge. Between the two shores stood Yerba Buena Island, which would serve as an anchorage for the bridges spanning to the two cities. To cross the distance and deep waters between San Francisco and the island would still require creative engineering on scale yet to be seen. An enormous concrete pier was built at the midpoint to anchor two separate suspension bridges, which would connect San Francisco with Yerba Buena Island. When completed, the pier contained more concrete than the Empire State Building. Four suspension towers were built, two on each side of the anchorage, and two cables nearly 29 inches in diameter were fabricated to support the 37 million pounds of load from the two bridges. To connect Yerba Buena and Oakland, the deepest bridge pier ever built was constructed to support the longest cantilevered span built to date. A tunnel through Yerba Buena Island connected the two bridges. At 56 feet high and 76 feet wide, it is still listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as the largest diameter bore tunnel in the world. The Golden Gate Bridge had significant engineering challenges of its own to face. It needed to withstand high winds, turbulent seas, dense fog, and possible earthquakes as it was being constructed less than eight miles from the site of the devastating earthquake of 1906. Strauss built one bridge tower on bedrock at the north end, and the other anchored to an 222
enormous ocean pier at the south end. Once the towers were completed, the cables were spun into place with enough wires to circle the globe three times. The Golden Gate is strong enough to support the weight of trucks and cars jammed bumper to bumper in every lane, and pedestrians in every inch of walkway, even in gale-force winds. It’s also flexible enough to withstand a sway of 21 feet and sag of 10 feet. Though these two projects had the most stringent safety precautions to date, many workers lost their lives during the course of construction. At a time when it was common for one person to die for every million dollars spent, 24 men died building the $77 million Bay Bridge, while 11 men lost their lives construction the $33 million Golden Gate. Nineteen men were saved by a safety net under the floor of the Golden Gate Bridge. They nicknamed themselves the Halfway to Hell Club. The San Francisco—Oakland Bay Bridge opened on November 12, 1936, and was so popular that the number of automobiles immediately exceeded expectations. The bridge was first designed to carry passenger cars on its upper deck and rail traffic on the lower deck, but the railroads were eventually removed to make more room for cars. On May 27, 1937, the Golden Gate Bridge opened to much fanfare. Upon its completion, Joseph Strauss, who spent years dreaming of this day, penned a poem entitled “The Mighty Task Is Done” (see page 238). The Golden Gate’s graceful design has become a San Francisco landmark and one of the world’s most renowned bridges. Together with the San Francisco—Oakland Bay Bridge, these two iconic structures carry nearly 400,000 vehicles a day. They are monuments to the ingenuity of those who dared to challenge convention, and remain an indispensable part of San Francisco’s skyline. 223
I left my heart In San Francisco. High on a hill, it calls to me. To be where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars! The morning fog may chill the air; I don’t care! My love waits there in San Francisco, above the blue and windy sea. When I come home to you, San Francisco, your golden sun will shine for me!
I LE FT MY HEART IN SA N FRANCISCO LY R I C S 224
BY
DOUGLAS CROSS
W H AT ’ S S H A K I N ’ ?
C A L I F O R N I A Q UA K E S íˇŽ
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The deadliest earthquake in U. S. history was the Great Earthquake of 1906 in San Francisco. The quake and resulting fires destroyed huge portions of the city and killed 3,000 people. íˇŽ
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Though world famous for its geologic activity, California does NOT have the most earthquakes every year in the U.S.—that honor goes to Alaska. California does, however, have the most damaging earthquakes every year due to a higher population and amount of infrastructure.
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Southern California experiences about 10,000 earthquakes each year, most so small no one even feels them. A few hundred register higher than 3.0 on the Richter scale, and only 15–20 earthquakes register higher than 4.0.
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Los Angeles and San Francisco are creeping steadily toward each other along the San Andreas Fault at the lightning pace of two inches per year! 226
(That’s just about the same speed as your fingernails grow.) At this rate, the two cities will be adjacent to each other in about 15 million years. íˇŽ
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border between the Pacific plate (moving north) and North American plate (moving south). As they slip past each other, earthquakes result, but pressure keeps them pressed against each other. Consequently, Angelenos and San Franciscans could one day wind up as neighbors, but California will still be intact.
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The San Andreas Fault is not one continuous fault line, but a fault zone made up of numerous fault segments that stretch more than 800 miles through California. Movement and earthquakes can happen anywhere in that zone, and the faults can reach up to 10 miles deep in places. íˇŽ
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In 1895, geologist A.C. Lawson named the San Andreas Fault after San Andreas Lake, a pond about 20 miles south of San Francisco through which it runs. At the time, he didn’t realize it stretched nearly the whole length of California! íˇŽ
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Tsunamis are caused when an earthquake or landslide violently displaces ocean water. These waves can go unnoticed in deep water but move at speeds of up to 550 miles per hour and can move from one side of an ocean to the other in less than a day. As they approach a coast, the waves slow but grow up to 100 feet. When they come crashing down on shore, they can carry loose objects or people back out to sea.
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Contrary to rumors, California will NOT eventually fall into the ocean. The San Andreas Fault, which runs from the Salton Sea in the south to Cape Mendocino in the north, is the
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One of the largest tsunamis ever recorded was caused by an underwater quake and produced a wave over 1700 feet high in Lituya Bay, Alaska in 1958. 227
FROM
FROM SEA TO SEA B Y R U D YA R D K I P L I N G
Y
ou want to go to the Palace Hotel?” said an affable youth on a dray. “What in hell are you doing here, then? This is about the lowest place in the city. Go six blocks north to corner of Geary and Market; then walk around till you strike corner of Gutter and Sixteenth, and that brings you there.” I do not vouch for the literal accuracy of these directions, quoting but from a disordered memory. “Amen,” I said, “But who am I that I should strike the corners of such as you name? Peradventure they be gentlemen of repute, and might hit back. Bring it down to dots, my son.” I thought he would have smitten me, but he didn’t. He explained that no one ever used the word “street,” and that everyone was supposed to know how the streets run; for sometimes the names were upon the lamps and sometimes they weren’t. Fortified with these directions I proceeded till I found a light street full of sumptuous buildings four or five stories high, but paved with rude cobblestones in the fashion of the Year One. A cable car without any visible means of support slid stealthily behind me and nearly struck me in the back. A hundred yards further there was a slight commotion in the street—a gathering together of three or four— and something that glittered as it moved very swiftly. A ponderous Irish “
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gentleman with priest’s cords in his hat and a small nickel-plated badge on his fat bosom emerged from the knot, supporting a Chinaman who had been stabbed in the eye and was bleeding like a pig. The bystanders went their ways, and the Chinaman, assisted by the policeman, his own. Of course this was none of my business, but I rather wanted to know what had happened to the gentleman who had dealt the stab. It said a great deal for the excellence of the municipal arrangements of the town that a surging crowd did not at once block the street to see what was going forward. I was the sixth man and the last who assisted at the performance, and my curiosity was six times the greatest. Indeed, I felt ashamed of showing it. There were no more incidents till I reached the Palace Hotel, a sevenstoried warren of humanity with a thousand rooms in it. All the travel books will tell you about hotel arrangements in this country. They should be seen to be appreciated. Understand clearly—and this letter is written after a thousand miles of experiences—that money will not buy you service in the West. When the hotel clerk—the man who awards your room to you and who is supposed to give you information—when that resplendent individual stoops to attend to your wants, he does so whistling or humming, or picking his teeth, or pauses to converse with some one he knows. These performances, I gather, are to impress upon you that he is a free man and your equal. From his general appearance and the size of his diamonds he ought to be your superior. There is no necessity for this swaggering 232
self-consciousness of freedom. Business is business, and the man who is paid to attend to a man might reasonable devote his whole attention to the job. In a vast marble-paved hall under the glare of an electric light sat forty or fifty men; and for their use and amusement were provided spittoons of infinite capacity and generous gape. Most of the men wore frock coats and top hats—the things that we in India put on at a wedding breakfast if we possessed them—but they all spat. The spat on principle. The spittoons were on the staircases, in each bedroom—yea, and in chambers even more sacred than these. They chased one into retirement, but they blossomed in chiefest splendor round the Bar, and they were all used, every reeking one of ’em. Just before I began to feel deathly sick, another reporter grappled me. What he wanted to know was the precise area of India in square miles. I referred him to Whittaker. He had never heard of Whittaker. He wanted it from my own mouth, and I would not tell him. Then he swerved off, like the other man, to details of journalism in our own country. I ventured to suggest that the interior economy of a paper most concerned the people who worked it. “That’s the very thing that interest us,” he said. “Have you got reporters anything like our reporters on Indian newspapers?” “We have not,” I said, and suppressed the “thank God” rising to my lips. “Why haven’t you?” said he. “Because they would die,” I said. It was exactly like talking to a child—a very rude little child. He would begin almost every sentence with: “Now tell me something about India,” and would turn aimlessly from one question to 233
another without the least continuity. I was not angry, but keenly interested. The man was a revelation to me. To his questions I returned answers mendacious and evasive. After all, it really did not matter what I said. He could not understand. I can only hope and pray that none of the readers of the Pioneer will ever see that portentous interview. The man made me out to be an idiot several sizes more drivelling than my destiny intended, and the rankness of his ignorance managed to distort the few poor facts with which I supplied him into large and elaborate lies. Then thought I: “The matter of American journalism shall be looked into later on. At present I will enjoy myself.” No man rose to tell me what were the lions of the place. No one volunteered any sort of conveyance. I was absolutely alone in this big city of white folk. By instinct I sought refreshment and came upon a barroom full of bad Salon pictures, in which men with hats on the backs of their heads were wolfing food from a counter. It was the institution of the “Free Lunch” that I had struck. You paid for a drink and got as much as you wanted to eat. For something less than a rupee a day a man can feed himself sumptuously in San Francisco, even though he be bankrupt. Remember this if ever you are stranded in these parts. Later, I began a vast but unsystematic exploration of the streets. I asked for no names. It was enough that the pavements were full of white men and women, the streets clanging with traffic, and that the restful roar of a great city rang in my ears. The cable cars glided to all points of the compass. I took them one by one till I could go no farther. San 234
Francisco has been pitched down on the sand bunkers of the Bikaneer desert. About one-fourth of it is ground reclaimed from the sea—any old-timer will tell you all about that. The remainder is ragged, unthrifty sand hills, pegged down by houses. From an English point of view there has not been the least attempt at grading those hills, and indeed you might as well try to grade the hillocks of Sind. The cable cars have for all practical purposes made San Francisco a dead level. They take no count of rise or fall, but slide equably on their appointed course from one end to the other of a six-mile street. They turn corners almost at right angles; cross other lines, and, for aught I know, may run up the sides of houses. There is no visible agency of their flight; but once in a while you shall pass a five-storied building, humming with machinery that winds up an everlasting wire cable, and the initiated will tell you that here is the mechanism. I gave up asking questions. If it pleases Providence to make a car run up and down a slit in the ground for many miles, and if for twopence-halfpenny I can ride in that car, why shall I seek the reasons of the miracle? Rather let me look out of the windows till the shops give place to thousands and thousands of little houses made of wood—each house just big enough for a man and his family. Let me watch the people in the cars, and try to find out in what manner they differ from us, their ancestors. They delude themselves into the belief that they talk English—the English—and I have already been pitied for speaking with “an English accent.” The man who pitied me spoke, so far as I was concerned, the language of thieves. And they all do. 235
Crab Louis 1
/2 cup good-quality mayonnaise 2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
1 /2 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
Juice of 1 lemon, save cut halves for later 1
/4 cup chili sauce
1 /4 cup finely chopped scallions
THOUGH THE ORIGINS OF THIS DELICIOUS DISH ARE SHROUDED IN MYSTERY, THERE IS NO DOUBT THAT IT IS A CLASSIC CALIFORNIA FAVORITE. MOST FOOD HISTORIANS AGREE THAT THIS CRAB CONCOCTION BECAME POPULAR IN THE EARLY PART OF THE 20 CENTURY, AND BOTH SOLARI’S RESTAURANT AND THE ST. FRANCIS HOTEL OF SAN FRANCISCO CLAIM TO BE THE CREATORS OF THE “KING OF SALADS.” WHILE VARIATIONS ON THIS RECIPE ABOUND, OUR VERSION SERVES UP THE DIVINELY DRESSED CRAB ON ANOTHER CALIFORNIA CLASSIC, THE AVOCADO. TH
1.
In a mixing bowl combine mayonnaise, mustard, Worcestershire sauce, and lemon juice.
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When thick and smooth, add the chili sauce, scallions and olives. Mix well and season to taste with salt and pepper.
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In a large mixing bowl, add crab and half the sauce. Mix gently so as not to break up the crab lumps.
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Split the avocados in half and discard the pits. Using the reserved lemon halves, rub exposed avocado flesh to prevent discoloration.
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Pile equal portions of the crab into the avocado halves. Spoon remaining dressing over the crab. Place on a bed of iceberg lettuce.
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Garnish with egg slices and tomatoes and serve immediately.
4 large green stuffed olives, chopped Salt and pepper to taste 1 pound crab meat, cut into chunks 4 ripe avocados Iceberg lettuce, shredded 4 hard boiled eggs 4 ripe tomatoes, quartered or chopped
SERVES 2
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IN 1775, Spanish explorer Lieutenant Juan Manuel de Ayala charted the San Francisco Bay and named a rocky island (said to be white from bird dung) “Isla de los Alcatraces” or “Island of the Pelicans.” Around the time of the Gold Rush, in the 1850s, the United States military arrived to build Fort Alcatraz. Though originally constructed for defense, the fort rapidly became a popular repository for local military men accused of deserting, robbing, or drinking to excess. In 1861, Alcatraz was named the official military prison for the Department of the Pacific. When the Civil War erupted in 1861, Confederate sympathizers and civilians accused of treason joined military prisoners on Alcatraz. Native Americans who clashed with U. S. authorities, Philippine prisoners of the Spanish-American War, and World War I conscientious objectors were also imprisoned there. As its old guns became obsolete, the fort’s defensive value was clearly waning. In 1912, a mammoth new prison, also known as “The Rock,” was completed, but when the Great Depression hit in the early 1930s, high costs forced the military to hand over operations to the Federal Bureau of Prisons. To calm public fears of rising crime rates and increasingly bold gangsters, the government created United States Penitentiary (USP) Alcatraz, a maximum-security super-prison where the nation’s most incorrigible inmates could be contained and strictly controlled. The swift currents and cold water (53˚F) surrounding Alcatraz, as well as the island’s distance from shore (1.5 miles), made Alcatraz virtually inescapable.
ALCATRAZ: THE ROCK
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But men still tried to get away. Over 28 years, 36 prisoners attempted to break out; twenty-three were recaptured, six were shot and killed, two drowned, and five are missing and presumed drowned. The bloodiest escape attempt occurred in 1946 when six prisoners took control of the cellhouse, beginning what became known as the “Battle of Alcatraz.” In the end, two guards and three inmates were killed, and 17 guards and one inmate were injured. Two of the three surviving convicts who took part in the escape were later executed. Another bold escape attempt was immortalized in Clint Eastwood’s Escape from Alcatraz. On the morning of June 12, 1962, guards found lifelike dummies (complete with human hair) in the bunks of three inmates. An investigation revealed the men had escaped using homemade drills to enlarge vent holes in their cells, false wall-and-vent segments to hide their work, and a raft fashioned from prison-issue raincoats. In the water, searchers found two homemade life vests and some carefully waterproofed letters and photos. Several weeks later, a man dressed in a blue prisonlike uniform
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washed up near San Francisco, but the body was too badly decomposed to be identified. In spite of an exhaustive investigation by the FBI, the three men were never officially located and are presumed drowned. Other infamous prisoners included Al “Scarface” Capone,* George “Machine Gun” Kelly, Doc Barker of the Ma Barker gang, “Public Enemy No. 1” Alvin Karpis, political prisoner Morton Sobell, and Robert Stroud, “the Birdman of Alcatraz.” In its 29 years of operation, USP Alcatraz housed 1,545 prisoners. On March 21, 1963, high operating and repair costs forced the prison to close for good. Today, Alcatraz Island is run by the National Park Service as part of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area. Almost a million visitors per year explore what remains of the prison and its gardens, discover the island’s protected-bird sanctuary and tide pools, and revel in Alcatraz’s beautiful bay vistas. *Contrary to persistent rumors, San Francisco Bay contains no “man-eating” sharks, Al Capone did not die at Alcatraz, and “the Birdman of Alcatraz” never kept birds on the island. He raised and studied them while imprisoned in Leavenworth, before arriving at Alcatraz.
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NO MORE JAZZ AT ALCATRAZ BY
No more jazz At Alcatraz No more piano for Lucky Luciano No more trombone for Al Capone No more jazz at Alcatraz No more cello for Frank Costello No more screeching of the Seagulls As they line up for Chow No more jazz At Alcatraz
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BOB KAUFMAN
WHEN I CAME TO SAN FRANCISCO, the city was just exploding with this counterculture movement. I thought, “This is it!” It was like paradise there. Everybody was in love with life and in love with their fellow human beings to the point where they were just sharing in incredible ways with everybody. Taking people in off the street and letting them stay in their homes, breaking free of conventional morality. You could walk down almost any street in HaightAshbury where I was living, and someone would smile at you and just go, “Hey, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” It was like people were high on the street and willing to share that energy. It was a very special time. “...T HERE
IS THIS ILLUSION OF ABUNDANCE HERE . . . .”
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It was a whole other vision of what was possible. Rents were cheap and people were living in big communal groups, and we didn’t have to work very hard. There was a sense that you didn’t need very much, and that people who worked hard were just trapped into trying to acquire more and more possessions. People should just begin more to enjoy life, play music, dance, experience nature. We were going to
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raise our kids communally and all that stuff, and such attitudes would flourish even more. I thought this was the new world beginning right here—an alternative society—and this was where I wanted to be. So I stayed. The first human Be-In was in January of ’67 in Golden Gate Park. That was a very high moment. People went and just kind of experienced. A lot of people were on LSD or peyote or marijuana. They played music, shared food, played drums, did American Indian chanting. You know, tie-dyed clothes, the whole thing. It all seems very trite now, but at the time it was all new. People were coming from all over the world to research it, to experience it. People from Czechoslovakia, Australia, Finland. It was a real phenomenon. For a while I worked with a group in the Haight called the Diggers, who had a kind of a primitive communism view that was just “share all the wealth.” The Diggers set up a free store, and people could just come in and take whatever they needed, and we fed people for free in the park. At one point I realized the absurdity of that when these people from the neighborhood, these older black women, came into the free store and said, “How much do these clothes cost in here?” We said, “Oh, it’s all free. You just take what you need, and then if you have extra, you give.”
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They said, “What do you mean, you just take what you need?” “Well, you just take what you need, that’s all.” They said, “Really?” So they came back with these big boxes and they started just taking tons of stuff off the racks. We said, “What are you doing?” They said, “Well, you said take what you need.” We said, “Yeah, well, you don’t need all those clothes for yourself.” They said, “No, but we need the money, so we’re going to take the clothes and sell them.” They were in real scarcity, you know, they needed money, and here we were saying just take what you need for your own personal, immediate needs. But for them, that wasn’t reality. Their reality was, “How are we going to get some money, and here’s these foolish white people just letting us take whatever we need. Well, we need it all. We don’t have anything.” That was the illusion of the whole hippie ethos, that there was this abundance. I think the hippie movement started in California—and was most powerful here—because there is this illusion of abundance here. Fruits were falling from the trees, rent was cheap,
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there were places to stay, the weather was tolerable even in the winter, there was a community of people who were into sharing. But there wasn’t an abundance. There was an abundance at a certain time for certain people. In early 1967, people would just give things away. On every street corner, there would be somebody giving things away, free food, a free place to stay. Then in the summer of ’67 was the Summer of Love. People started storming in by the thousands, and within three months there were people begging, “Do you have free food?” In other words, so many came that the surplus changed to scarcity. It got very ugly very fast. People got into really bad drugs like speed and heroin. There were ripoffs, violence, guns being drawn, people really malnourished, hepatitis, people living on the street with no place to stay. I quickly saw then that the counterculture wasn’t going to make it. It wasn’t going to work. It was an illusion. And meanwhile the war was going on. It became more and more clear that you couldn’t just set up little islands of peace and love in the middle of the Vietnam War.
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TA K I N G T H E P L U N G E BY
AMISTEAD MAUPIN
M
ary Ann Singleton was twenty-five years old when she saw San Francisco for the first time. She came the city alone for an eight-day vacation. On the fifth night, she drank three Irish coffees at the Buena Vista, realized that her mood ring was blue, and decided to phone her mother in Cleveland. “Hi, Mom. It’s me.” Oh, darling. Your daddy and I were just talking about you. There was this crazy man on McMillan and Wife who was strangling all these secretaries, and I just couldn’t help thinking . . .” “Mom . . .” “I know. Just crazy ol’ Mom, worrying herself sick over nothing. But you never can tell about those things. Look at that poor Patty Hearst, locked up in that closet with all those awful . . .” “Mom . . . long distance.” “Oh . . . yes. You must be having a grand time.” “God . . . you wouldn’t believe it! The people here are so friendly I feel like I’ve . . . ” “Have you been to the Top of the Mark like I told you?” “Not yet.” “Well, don’t you dare miss that! You know, your daddy took me there when he got back from the South Pacific. I remember he slipped the 254
bandleader five dollars, so we could dance to ‘Moonlight Serenade,’ and I spilled Tom Collins all over his beautiful white Navy. . . ” “Mom, I want you to do me a favor.” “Of course, darling. Just listen to me. Oh . . . before I forget it, I ran into Mr. Lassiter yesterday at the Ridgemont Mall, and he said the office is just falling apart with you gone. They don’t get many good secretaries at Lassiter Fertilizers.” “Mom, that’s sort of why I called.” “Yes, darling?” “I want you to call Mr. Lassiter and tell him I won’t be in on Monday morning.” “Oh . . . Mary Ann, I’m not sure you should ask for an extension on your vacation.” “It’s not an extension, Mom.” “Well, then why. . . ?” “I’m not coming home, Mom.” Silence. Then, dimly in the distance, a television voice began to tell Mary Ann’s father about the temporary relief of hemorrhoids. Finally, her mother spoke: “Don’t be silly, darling.” “Mom . . . I’m not being silly. I like it here. It feels like home already.” “Mary Ann, if there’s a boy. . . ” “There’s no boy. . . . I’ve thought about this for a long time.” “Don’t be ridiculous! You’ve been there five days!”
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“Mom, I know how you feel, but . . . well, it’s got nothing to do with you and Daddy. I just want to start making my own life . . . have my own apartment and all.” “Oh, that. Well, darling . . . of course you can. As a matter of fact, your daddy and I thought those new apartments out at Ridgemont might be just perfect for you. They take lots of young people, and they’ve got a swimming pool and a sauna, and I could make some of those darling curtains like I made for Sonny and Vicki when they got married. You could have all the privacy you . . . ” “You aren’t listening, Mom. I’m trying to tell you I’m a grown woman.” “Well, act like it, then! You can’t just . . . run away from your family and friends to go live with a bunch of hippies and mass murderers!” “You’ve been watching too much TV.” “O.K. . . . then what about The Horoscope?” “Mom . . . The Zodiac.” “Same difference. And what about . . . earthquakes? I saw that movie, Mary Ann, and I nearly died when Ava Gardner. . . ” “Will you just call Mr. Lassiter for me” Her mother began to cry. “You won’t come back. I just know it.” “Mom . . . please . . . I will. I promise.” “But you won’t be . . . the same!” “No. I hope not.”
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California, Here I Come, Right back where I started from. Where bowers of flowers bloom in the sun. Each morning at dawning birdies sing and ev’rything. A sunkissed miss said, “Don’t be late.” That’s why I can hardly wait. Open up that golden gate; California, Here I Come!
CALIFORNIA, HERE I COME BY
A L J O L S O N , B . G . D E S Y LVA , A N D J O S E P H M E Y E R 258
NATASHA TABORI FRIED is managing editor of Welcome Books. She co-edited The Little Big Book of Love (with Lena Tabori for William Morrow), and edited The Little Big Book of Chills and Thrills and The Little Big Book of America (for Welcome).
Maya Angelou Douglas Cross B. G. DeSylva Neil Diamond Joan Didion Lawrence Ferlinghetti Alex Forman Charlotte Perkins Gilman Dana Gioia Thom Gunn Robert Hass Ben Hecht Jane Hirschfeld Aldous Huxley
LENA TABORI is the publisher of Welcome Books. She has conceived and edited numerous books including Love: A Celebration in Art and Literature (with Jane Lahr), The Little Big Book for Dads (with H. Clark Wakabayashi), and The Little Big Book of New York. She lives in California and New York.
A LSO AVAILABLE : The Little Big Book of Christmas (William Morrow), ISBN 0-688-17414-0 The Little Big Book of Love (William Morrow), ISBN 0-688-17415-9 The Little Big Book of Disney (Disney Editions), ISBN 0-7868-5349-2 The Little Big Book of Pooh (Disney Editions), ISBN 0-7868-5364-6 Published by Welcome Books® An imprint of Welcome Enterprises, Inc. 6 West 18th Street, New York, NY 10011 Tel. (212) 989-3200; Fax. (212) 989-3205 w w w. w e l c o m e b o o k s . c o m Printed in China
FRIED
The Little Big Book of
Literary Excerpts, Essays, Recipes, Poems, Songs, Legend & Lore, and Facts
It has better days, and more of them, than any other country.
Edited by
EAN
UPC
Amy Tan
Lew Welch
Walt Whitman
Brian Wilson
Yvor Winters
Tom Wolfe
Natasha Tabori Fried and Lena Tabori
The Little Big Book of California is full of observations natives will appreciate, but it is also the ideal tourist guide and souvenir. It includes:
— Ra l p h Wa l d o E m e r s o n
Robinson Jeffers Al Jolson Bob Kaufman Maxine Hong Kingston Rudyard Kipling Jack Kornfield Danny Kortchmar Jack London Suzanne Lummis Armistead Maupin Wilma Elizabeth McDaniel Joseph Meyer Johnny Mercer Natalie Merchant Joaquin Miller Joni Mitchell John Muir Randy Newman Linda Niemann John Phillips Adela Rogers St. Johns Raquel Scherr Richard Stayton Wallace Stegner Gertrude Stein John Steinbeck Robert Louis Stevenson Amy Tan Lew Welch Walt Whitman Brian Wilson Yvor Winters Tom Wolfe Maya Angelou Douglas Cross B. G. DeSylva Neil Diamond Joan Didion Lawrence Ferlinghetti Alex Forman Charlotte Perkins Gilman Dana Gioia Thom Gunn Robert Hass Ben Hecht Jane Hirschfeld Aldous Huxley Robinson Jeffers Al Jolson Bob Kaufman Maxine Hong Kingston Rudyard Kipling Jack Kornfield Danny Kortchmar Jack London Suzanne Lummis Armistead Maupin Wilma Elizabeth McDaniel Joseph Meyer Johnny Mercer Natalie Merchant Joaquin Miller Joni Mitchell John Muir Randy Newman Linda Niemann John Phillips Adela Rogers St. Johns Raquel Scherr Richard Stayton Wallace Stegner Gertrude Stein John Steinbeck Robert Louis Stevenson
Can. $35.95
CALIFORNIA
The attraction and superiority of California are in its days.
ALSO AVAILABLE IN THE LITTLE BIG BOOK SERIES: The Little Big Book for Moms, ISBN 0-941807-41-X The Little Big Book for Dads, ISBN 0-941807-43-6 The Little Big Book for God’s Children, ISBN 0-941807-55-X The Little Big Book of Chills and Thrills, ISBN 0-941807-50-9 The Little Big Book of Animals, ISBN 0-941807-56-8 The Little Big Book for Grandmothers, ISBN 0-941807-57-6 The Little Big Book of Pregnancy, ISBN 0-941807-72-X The Little Big Book of America, ISBN 0-941807-71-1 The Little Big Book of Life, ISBN 0-941807-82-7 The Little Big Book for Boys, ISBN 0-941807-70-3 The Little Big Book for Girls, ISBN 0-941807-81-9 The Little Big Book for Brides, ISBN 0-941807-25-8 The Little Big Book of New York, ISBN 1-932183-02-7 The Little Big Book of Laughter, ISBN 1-932183-01-9 The Little Big Book of Roses, ISBN 1-932183-22-1 Disney The Little Big Book of Family Classics, ISBN 1-932183-16-7 The Little Big Book for Grandfathers, ISBN 1-932183-71-X
U.S. $24.95
welcome
BOOKS
Literary excerpts from authors such as Joan Didion, Jack London, John Steinbeck, and Amy Tan. Poems by the likes of Robert Hass, John Muir, and Walt Whitman. Fact spreads including Famous Californians, Moments in History, Earthquakes, and Surf’s Up. Song lyrics including “I Left My Heart in San Francisco,” “California Girls” by Brian Wilson, “California” by Joni Mitchell, and Natalie Merchant’s “San Andreas Fault.” Quotations by such luminaries as Ray Bradbury, Jack Kornfield, Maya Angelou, and Jack Kerouac. Legends and lore of everything you ever wanted to know about California, including the building of San Francisco’s bridges, the Gold Rush, the Water Wars, and Hollywood. Recipes for California nouveau classics like BBQ Chicken Pizza, California Rolls, and Chinese Chicken Salad join more traditional fare such as Crab Louis and Fish Tacos. Vintage Americana postcard and paper ephemera that illustrates eras of time gone by.